Black Soul, Golden Heart
by Celestial Embers
Summary: When a chance encounter brings Goku Black and a seven-year-old Harry Potter together, the fallen god learns that humanity's redemption may not be an entirely lost cause.
1. The Experiment

Black stared coldly into the eyes of the short and corpulent Supreme Kai before him. Agu of Universe Twelve would mark the end of his quest for sovereign divinity. At last, none remained who could hold even a candle to his supreme power.

The Kai's yellow skin was rapidly paling, no doubt due to the blood loss incurred from his now gaping chest wound. Black could feel the cruel smirk spreading across his face and made sure to take in every second of the dying deity's vain attempts at clinging to life.

It was pathetic, he realized, as Agu finally dropped to the ground with a dull thud, that the so-called Gods of Creation had allowed themselves to grow so weak. In a truly ironic twist of fate, he understood that even those who would claim themselves Gods were no better than the mortals they watched over.

Black snarled and turned on the spot, no longer willing to sully his eyes with the sight of such weakness. His contempt for every single being in existence grew even more distinct.

Today, however, would mark the end of such disgrace. Today, he would finally be able to implement the second stage of his grand plan. With no Kais, Destroyers or Angels to stand in his way, he could finally set out to purge reality itself of its most hideous stain.

Mortality.

* * *

Seven-year-old Harry Potter woke up with a throbbing head; his aunt's shrieks only adding to the unpleasant ringing between his ears. He mumbled incoherently, reaching for his glasses, and attempted to shake off the dizziness.

"Boy! Breakfast won't cook itself!"

Harry just kept mumbling under his breath, but nevertheless hurried to get out of bed and dress himself in some of his cousin's hand downs. Nodding to himself in very muted satisfaction, he scurried out of the cupboard that was his room and headed for the kitchen.

Maybe, if he was lucky, his Aunt Petunia might just allow him half an hour to himself in the park once he had completed his chores for the day.

"Took you long enough." was the pleasant greeting that reached his ears once he entered the neither small, nor large, but perfectly normal sized kitchen. His aunt glared at him through narrowed eyes, and Harry wisely avoided the choice to dispute her statement.

Seeing that he was going to remain silent, Petunia pointed to a frying pan she had placed on the stove. "There, boy. Get started with the bacon, eggs and toast. Don't burn anything." she said, the last part coming out as a low, threatening hiss.

Harry sighed, already used to her mannerisms, and began his regular cooking routine. He snickered silently as she left, knowing that she wouldn't notice him shoving a few strips of bacon into his mouth while he was frying. After all, that was how he had managed to have a decently sized breakfast ever since he was old enough to feed himself.

He liked to imagine that his father smiled down at him, taking as much pleasure in the little tidbits of mischief he managed to pull off as he did.

Unfortunately, happy moments did not last forever.

Harry had been so lost in thought that he completely missed his uncle waddling into the kitchen with a sour look on his face. Obviously, the man had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. After serving his uncle a portion of food, he was about to reach for a plate of his own when the human walrus decided to interrupt him.

"Mow the lawn, prune the garden and then get started on painting the shed." Uncle Vernon ordered, to which he simply nodded dejectedly.

"Well, don't just stand there! Get to it!" Vernon barked, his face rapidly growing an unhealthy shade of purple when his nephew didn't bolt at once.

Harry bolted. At least he had been lucky enough to avoid Dudley.

* * *

Universe Twelve was in fact a rather tolerable universe, Black mused. At least as far as his old mentor Gowasu would have been concerned. It had a fair share of populated planets, harboring many culturally and technologically advanced civilizations.

In his eyes, of course, Universe Twelve was polluted beyond anything he had yet come to witness. The amount of violence, bloodshed and otherwise barbaric behavior it had taken to achieve this stage of development was staggering. The Time Ring had shown him countless wars, rampant corruption and an irreverence for life which left him overwhelmed with disgust.

He would depart the Sacred World of the Kais at once. There was no point in wasting time. All these worlds would need to be purged, and Black knew that only he, the one and true God, could possibly fulfill such a divine task.

Placing two fingers against his forehead, he reached out into the vast expanse of reality and sought out first source of energy he could find. Within seconds, he grasped a fleeting tendril of life force and grinned maliciously.

The gentle flutter of displaced air was the last sound Black would hear before opening his eyes once more, now greeted by what could only be described as a small village in twilight.

He stood in the middle of some man-made street, rather primitive in comparison to much of what he had seen previously. Luckily, there were no filthy humans around, and so the God could contemplate his next course of action in peace.

Black walked silently along the pavement, taking in his dimly lit surroundings in morbid fascination. The humans had apparently chosen to erect multiple, identical places of dwelling on either side of the avenue. Every house looked indistinguishable from the other, down to the last patch of grass on the small garden surrounding each one.

He could appreciate symmetry, but this, it was an almost sickening level of uniformity.

A sudden spike of energy caught his attention, and his head snapped in its direction almost of its own accord. It felt just like the source he used to reach this wretched planet.

In the corner of his eye, Black observed how a small, shimmering outline disappeared around the edge of the street.

* * *

Harry had never been so scared in his life. Not even a year ago when his Uncle Vernon had turned such a deep shade of red that he looked ready to explode, and Harry had thought that the large man would finally snap and beat him.

After all, how could it be his fault that the kindergarten teacher's hair suddenly turned blue? His uncle must have had a bad day at work.

Now, however, Harry thought his heart would promptly burst out of his chest. He had been walking back home from the park when suddenly, a strange, oddly clad man appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the street.

It was just like magic!

It was then that he managed to discern the man's expression, that of anger and revulsion, something Harry was all too familiar with. He had hurried to hide in bushes of one of the neighbor's gardens, wishing for nothing more than to become invisible, when it felt like someone cracked an egg over his head.

The man's head turned in his direction so sharply that he was surprised it did not come right off. Harry's breath hitched; his throat constricting so tightly that he could barely draw in a single breath.

In a state of panic, the young boy ran as fast as he could back to the park. He did not even pause to look over his shoulder for fear that the man would catch up to him. What would happen if he caught him? Would he be kidnapped? Would he get beaten? Killed even?

Amidst the dark speculations of his possible demise, Harry failed to notice the figure blocking his path, and he found himself colliding painfully with a very solid pair of legs. Stumbling gracelessly onto his behind, he fearfully met the coldest pair of black eyes he had ever seen.

"A boy?" the man murmured, looking both stunned and appalled at the same time. Harry did not even have time to stammer a meek response, when an arm reached out and grasped his oversized sweater and jerked him upright.

"Who are you, boy? What is this power of invisibility you possess?" the man inquired, much to his confusion. "Speak!" he demanded; his tone growing impatient.

Harry struggled to resist the imminent tears from spilling down over his cheeks and responded.

"H-Harry. I'm just Harry. I d-don't know what you're t-talking about."

"Well, just Harry, it seems you are going to be given the honor of spending the remainder of this evening with your god."

* * *

Black scowled at the weak human child beside him. It pained him to admit it, but the boy practically radiated innocence. The fact that a pitiful mortal could even exude such innocence, in not only body but also soul, confused him perhaps more than his ability to fade in and out of view.

It was some kind of universal attempt to mock him, he concluded, once the unlikely duo found themselves sat on a nearby bench. This world would already have been cleansed and brought to its full glory if not for this boy.

"Harry." he said, still slightly glaring at the small child. He was surprised to see the boy lift his head in shock, as though hearing his own name was a foreign occurrence to him. However, it was pleasing to see that a healthy amount of fear still remained in his bespectacled green eyes.

"Er… Yes, Mister God?"

He honestly would have laughed, had such a thing not been unbecoming.

"Son Goku will do. Or simply Goku, if you must."

His own words stunned him. Why would he refer to himself as that despicable saiyan? Although, there was a certain poetic justice to it. To cleanse the world in the name of the one who defiled it the most.

"O-okay. Mister Goku."

The sun had almost fully set, and most of the light illuminating them came from the lamppost nearby. Harry was looking up at him expectantly, and for some reason beyond his understanding, Black was bothered by the helpless, passive gaze.

All mortals he had the displeasure of encountering thus far could be placed into three categories.

Firstly, the arrogant and prideful, who considered themselves superior for petty reasons which held no importance outside of their short and utterly meaningless lives.

Secondly, the cowardly and traitorous, who would turn their backs on those who considered them friends in favor of prostrating before him, all in a futile attempt to be absolved of their sins.

Thirdly, and perhaps the worst of all, were the self-righteous scum who believed so fiercely, with such passion and fervor, that they had the one and only true understanding of good and evil. Nearly every conflict in history had been spearheaded by mortals with this mentality.

Yet, this boy, whose eyes were widening by the second with a multitude of emotions, did not fit into any of these categories. He showed no signs of arrogance or pride, rather the opposite. However, he was most certainly no coward either – merely remaining composed in the presence a supreme being such as himself was proof of that.

Finally, much to Black's bewilderment, Harry had given none of the common responses from mortals who found themselves cornered with something beyond their understanding. He had not screamed, accusing him of being an evil demon and subsequently lashed out in fear.

"Harry." he repeated, no longer glaring at the boy. "I would like to make an experiment."

The child merely kept his large, green eyes focused on his own. "Oh? What kind?"

"Prove to me, that mortality is not the Gods' greatest mistake. Prove to me, that sparing this world is not something that I will come to regret."

Black stood up abruptly, the light now illuminating his entire face.

"I'll see you around, Harry."


	2. Potara

To an outsider, it would not seem that much had changed for ten-year-old Harry Potter since this very date three years ago. Of course, he was older, slightly taller, and perhaps appeared a tad too reflective for a lad of his age.

However, the biggest change was one that could not be seen – that of the mind.

Nearly every day since Harry had met that strange man, Son Goku, he had been able to think of little else. In fact, it was only the series of oddities occurring around him that managed to draw his attention away from thoughts of the self-proclaimed god.

Even then, he remembered that the man had mentioned something about him being invisible. He did not dare think of that in the presence of the Dursleys, but a small part of Harry realized that something about him was different.

Slowly but surely, pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together.

Turning his teacher's hair blue. Growing out his hair overnight after his aunt had shaved it off. Blinking his eyes while attempting to outrun his cousin's gang and suddenly finding himself somewhere else entirely.

The fact that each of these events resulted in Harry's relatives locking him away in his cupboard with naught but a few pieces of bread and a glass of water, all the while shouting that 'There is no such thing as magic!' when he tried to explain himself, only served to raise his suspicions.

Perhaps magic did exist. Maybe he had some weird power that his family knew about and did not want him to discover. It would certainly explain their behavior towards him. Despite not complaining much about it, Harry knew the way they treated him was not considered normal.

He entertained the idea of telling them that, imagining their faces when they were told by none other than their weird nephew that they were not normal.

Harry stifled a laugh behind the palm of his hand.

"Hey look, it's weirdo Potter. You having a giggle there, mate?"

He spun around, meeting the approaching form of Dudley's friend Malcolm. Flanking him were none other than Dudley himself and another of his friends, Piers.

Harry took in Malcolm's lanky, almost athletic build, as well as Dudley's whale-like appearance. Piers was the least intimidating of the trio, being exceedingly thin and having the misfortune of possessing a face shaped like a rat's.

He decided that he could probably outrun all three of them, especially if he managed to disappear again. However, Harry was simply not in the mood.

It was a nice day, sunny and bright with only a few white clouds peacefully roaming the skies. It was not often that he managed to have a moment to himself, without his aunt or uncle breathing down his neck and shouting out orders.

He stood up from where he had been crouching, at the very border of a pavement along Privet Drive.

"Just go away." he muttered.

Dudley was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, no doubt intent on doing the exact opposite of that.

Harry sighed and tensed his body, ready to begin running. "Why can't you guys just leave me alone?" he asked.

"Because we don't like you." Dudley responded.

"Why?"

The large boy stopped in his tracks and looked at him strangely. "What do you mean 'why'? Because you're weird, duh."

The two other boys laughed at that and clenched their fists, moving in his direction.

Harry shook his head exasperatedly. "It's not like I'm weird on purpose!" he countered, raising his voice towards the end in indignation.

"That's what Mum and Dad say." Dudley argued, now within hands reach of him, yet choosing not to pull a punch. It was strange, standing so close to his bully of a cousin while not in pain.

"Well, maybe they're wrong! Maybe I can't help it and just want to be like everyone else!" Harry shouted, not realizing how loud his voice had become.

In the distance, he noticed an elderly couple throwing them a curious glace as they walked down the street.

Dudley, and now even Malcolm and Piers, were looking at him with peculiar expressions, as though he was not the same boy they had been hunting since he was old enough to walk.

His cousin actually backed off; a look of deep contemplation on his face which was completely at odds with his usual, rather dim-witted appearance.

"Whatever." he mumbled, and turned to his friends. "Who cares about Potter anyway. Let's go bother old Figg and her stupid cats instead."

Harry could hardly believe it when the trio of bullies wandered off. He absentmindedly wondered if some deity had been watching over him and thanked them for his stroke of luck.

Just as he allowed himself to relax, a low, dark voice whispered from behind him.

"Impressive."

* * *

Black had spent the last three Earth-years scouring the universe, exterminating all traces of intelligent mortal life on every inhabited planet he came across.

Every mortal had fallen into one of the three categories, and thus, none had proven worthy of exemption. It was both satisfying and disappointing; on one hand he liked being proven right, but on the other he wished it did not have to be so.

With that in mind, he decided to check in on the boy. Perhaps he had progressed in his task.

Black was not let down. Seeing Harry quell the violent instincts of the other mortal children was as eye-opening as it was impressive. He had only used a few words.

Given that his own method entailed the complete disintegration of the mortal in question with a one-way ticket to the afterlife, it had been a sobering thing to witness.

Once having ensured that no other mortals were in sight, he leapt off the roof of the house he had been observing from and landed quietly a short distance behind the child.

"Impressive." he whispered.

Harry quickly turned around to face him; an expression of surprise on his face before it morphed into some sort of understanding.

"Mister Goku!" he exclaimed, and actually cracked a smile at him. "You were watching over me, weren't you?"

Black, not entirely used to being greeted with such high spirits, could only nod politely.

"Indeed. Walk with me." he demanded, and the two began strolling leisurely down the ridiculously homogenous alley. It still troubled him.

The boy had quickly settled into a steady pace to his left, every now and then having to quicken his steps to match Black's long gait.

To his surprise, Harry was the one to first break the silence. "So, er, I have a question. Is m-magic real?"

He blinked.

Of course. Black could have smacked himself in the face for his oversight.

"Have you been turning invisible again?" he asked, throwing the nervous boy an understanding glance.

Harry shook his head. "Not that. I kinda… Well, lots of weird stuff happened lately. It's really just like magic, and my aunt and uncle always get mad when I talk about it."

His mind was working in overdrive. It was not uncommon for magic to manifest itself in random bursts when uncontrolled, and it had taken even him a long time to fully master his Kai powers.

That was not the biggest issue, however. Fear of the unknown and the uncontrollable were always among the main reasons behind persecution and revilement.

"Mad?"

The boy shuffled anxiously; running a hand through his already messy hair. "I-It's nothing, really, I don't blame them. Honestly, it's probably weird and scary."

Black felt a foreign, bubbling feeling rising within him. "I see."

He took a deep breath. "To answer your question; yes, magic does exist. You're probably a wizard."

Harry's gasp of wonder and incredulity was almost amusing. "A-a wizard? But I can't be a wizard. I'm just Harry!"

The boy really did consider himself nothing special. Then again, not even Black had heard of a human with magic, but quickly reminded himself that this was not Universe Ten.

He was about to assert that the child was, contrary to what he seemed to believe, very much magical, when Harry suddenly looked up and pointed to one of the houses.

"Hey, look, Mister Goku, that's where I live over there!"

Black followed the direction of the boy's outstretched finger, determining just which one of all the identical abodes he resided in.

"Really?" he drawled. "Are you sure it isn't the house to the right?"

Harry laughed and shook his head. "They do look all the same, don't they?"

On impulse, he gently placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. He had already graced the mortal with more trust and mercy than he would have ever considered possible. What would another investment matter, in the grand scheme of things?

"This is where our ways must part, for now. It has been enlightening." he said, while reaching for his right ear.

When he had disposed of Gowasu, Black had made sure to salvage his green pair of Potaras. However, only one earring was needed to use the Time Ring, and he did not care much for their sentimental value.

Unclasping the golden ring from his ear; the green jewel dangling slightly as he did so; he lowered his hand and held it out to the young boy, who was now looking at him in obvious puzzlement.

"Before I leave, I have a gift for you. You must fasten it on your left ear."

Harry's wide eyes stared back at him, and he seemed to struggle with a response.

"A g-gift? For me? But… my ears aren't even pierced."

He suddenly straightened himself abruptly. "I mean, thank you! I love it!"

A soft, unexpected chuckle escaped Black's lips. "You're very welcome. As for piercing your ears, you'll find that such a thing is unnecessary. I suppose you could say that the earring is magical."

"Oh…"

The boy took hold of the ring with both of his thumbs and index fingers, before raising his arm to his right ear.

"No!" Black shouted, hurriedly interrupting what could have turned out to be the biggest blunder in all of existence. "The left ear, not the right!"

Harry blushed in embarrassment and quickly switched to his other ear. As soon as the metal made contact with his skin, it sank in; the previously open band of gold sealing itself somewhere within his earlobe.

"Oh, wow, that didn't even hurt at all! But, er, why couldn't I just put it on the other ear anyway?"

Not wanting to delve into Kai business with a human boy, Black simply withheld a cringe and responded calmly.

"As I said, it's magical. If we're both wearing them, they must be placed on the same ear. Doing otherwise would cause… discomfort."

The boy must have noticed something in his tone, because he made sure to nod seriously.

"Okay. I'll make sure to keep it where it is then."

He inclined his head in approval. "Good. Now, only you will be able to remove it, should you so desire."

The two of them stood still for a moment, until Harry blurted out a question which had understandably been on his mind.

"Um, Mister Goku, don't get me wrong, I love your gift, but… Why?"

Black sighed. Not even he was entirely sure, although he told himself it was an investment.

"Those relatives of yours. They fear magic, and consequently, they fear you as well. The signs are obvious, Harry, they do not care for you."

The boy looked about to protest when he intercepted him with a raised hand.

"Therefore, when you enter that place you call home, you will show your aunt and uncle a magical, irremovable earring, and assure them that you are now under watchful eyes."

The hope that illuminated the child's face was unusually satisfying.

"I'm sure they'll think twice before doing you any more injustices."

Following that statement, Black chose to vacate Earth as quickly as possible.


	3. Diagon Alley

Eleven-year-old Harry Potter was, for the first time in his life, experiencing what he considered a fully normal and acceptable birthday. It was actually very enjoyable, and he had already pinched himself several times to make sure it was not all just a dream.

His Aunt Petunia had even baked him a cake! A real one! How incredible was that?

Meeting Son Goku was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him. Ever since the day he came home, presenting his gifted earring to his family, life had taken a complete turn.

His family had been scared at first, looking around themselves wherever they went in a very paranoid manner. The fact that they never managed to spot anything, or anyone, seemed to make them even more uncomfortable.

Over time, they had come to realize that Harry was not a demon in disguise who actively sought to cause them harm whenever possible, causing them to reach an agreement of sorts.

He left them alone, and in return, they did the same.

He got to move into Dudley's second bedroom, which was surprisingly met with no protest from his pudgy cousin. He was finally allowed three full meals each day, and only had to do one chore of his choice.

The lifestyle suited him perfectly as he was naturally rather restless, and he had come to grow a certain appreciation for common things like gardening, especially now that it was no longer a burden forced upon him.

The biggest change, however, came after his cousin approached him one day and asked if he was interested in learning how to box. Harry was not really interested, given that he possessed magic, but was not about to pass up the chance of bonding with Dudley.

Both of them had soon realized that physical fighting would never be Harry's forte, and eventually settled for Dudley throwing the punches while Harry dodged and blocked with the mitts. His aunt had been freaked out when she had first come across the two boys, happy and laughing together inside Dudley's room.

To Petunia's credit, she adapted with remarkable ease. Uncle Vernon on the other hand, had merely tolerated his presence and begun to refer to him by his name, instead of 'Boy'. Thankfully, after an entire year, even Vernon seemed unable to bother with the coldness any longer.

"Well, Harry, are you going to blow out those candles or not?" his uncle huffed impatiently, to which Petunia discreetly elbowed him in the side.

"Don't mind Vernon, Harry. Knowing him he's probably just dying to have a slice." she told him, giving a teasing wink.

Vernon grumbled, and Harry held back a snicker at his expense. He could hardly believe he used to be afraid of these people.

Noticing Dudley's eager look from across the table, Harry decided they had all waited long enough. Making sure to inhale deeply, he leant forward over the table and blew out all eleven candles at once.

The Dursley's cheered, and Petunia hurried to hand out slices of cake to all four of them. He reveled in the taste, thinking that it was probably the most delicious thing he had ever eaten.

Once they were finished, Harry was surprised when his aunt and uncle had all four of them huddled in the sitting room couch.

"What's with the face, Har'? You've got presents to open!" Dudley said, grinning.

Presents? From his family?

Petunia was the first to shove a tiny packet into his arms, wrapped in silver paper and held together with what he considered a pretty, sparkling, green lace.

He unwrapped it slowly and carefully, still in disbelief. Finally unraveling the last fold, he let the small box inside slide out and drop into his hand.

Contact lenses?

His aunt took note of his questioning, yet pleased face, and clarified. "You know, Harry, you've got wonderful eyes. Just like… Just like your mother's. It's a shame to hide them behind those awful glasses."

He felt a small lump in his throat, and thanked her, before throwing his arms around her in a tight hug. Just as a flush was beginning to work its way up his neck, Petunia awkwardly patted him on the back.

"It's alright, Harry. I suggest you don't forget your other gifts, though!"

* * *

The next day Harry woke up feeling as though he were in paradise. He could not imagine life getting any better than it was right now.

Of course, it was then he remembered that today he was supposed to meet a professor from his magic school. Even thinking about the letter was almost as amazing as when he had first received it. There was just something so magical about it!

He dressed himself quickly in his best clothes, some of which had been gifted to him yesterday by his uncle. Apparently, the man had insisted on Harry making sure to represent the non-magical population as decently as possible, and that included dressing in 'proper' clothes instead of whatever nonsense witches and wizards were bound to wear.

If they actually turned out to use robes and pointy hats, he was inclined to agree with his uncle. That sounded very impractical, albeit funny.

Throwing a quick glance at the wristwatch Dudley had got him, although he secretly believed it was in fact his aunt and uncle who had purchased it, Harry blanched.

It was already a quarter to ten! A mere fifteen minutes later and the professor would be knocking on the door.

Rushing down the stairs with speed that would surely cause his old cupboard to be raining with dust, he was met with his aunt's disapproving stare.

"No running down the stairs, Harry. You could get hurt!" she admonished.

"Sorry. It's just that Miss McGonagall will be here any minute now, and I completely forgot all about it!"

Petunia smiled at that. "Well, I'm glad to see all this m-magic stuff hasn't gone to your head."

The doorbell chimed, and they both jumped, startled.

"She's early." his aunt whispered. "Harry, you go and answer the door. I'll be in the kitchen. You haven't even had breakfast yet."

He nodded in understanding and headed for the entryway, while his aunt walked off in the opposite direction. He knew his family were still not completely at ease around magic, with him being the only exception.

Once he reached the door, he made a split-second decision to peek through the door viewer. The sight had him both gulping nervously and choking with suppressed laughter.

The most severe and strict looking woman he had ever seen stood outside, clad in a long, flowing robe and a stereotypical pointy witch's hat. She looked terribly unamused, probably from having to wait for so long.

Harry concluded that it was best not to test her patience and pulled down on the handle. He plastered a cheerful smile onto his face as the door swung open.

"Hello! You must be Miss McGonagall, please come inside!"

The dumbfounded witch stepped forward, inspecting him closely. "Thank you, and yes, I am. You must be Mister Potter then, I presume. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Yup, but you can just call me Harry!" he answered, leading the witch inside. "I think Aunt Petunia is in the kitchen, if you want to talk to her."

His eyes narrowed slightly when he saw McGonagall frown, although the expression was brief.

"Not to worry, Mister Potter. I'll inform her of our departure and then we'll be off."

Harry shrugged, before brightening when his aunt approached them with a large sandwich in her hands. Petunia's eyes widened for a fraction of a second when she saw the person standing next to him, but nevertheless hurried to hand him his breakfast.

"Here you go, Harry." she said, before futilely attempting to tame his wild hair with her hands. It did not take long for her to give up, and she was finally forced to look at McGonagall.

"Take care of him." she said, eventually. "I swear, if there's so much as a missing hair on his head, I'll-"

"He will be quite alright, I assure you." the witch interrupted, taken aback.

"Good. And Harry…" she said, turning back to him. "Don't go buying everything in sight."

He smirked mischievously, already knowing that his parents had essentially left him a small fortune.

"Oh, don't worry, Auntie. I'll be very mature."

Petunia whimpered.

* * *

"You're not what I was expecting, Mister Potter."

Harry and the professor had stepped out into the driveway, and he looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.

"And what exactly were you expecting?" he asked, and she hummed thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure. In any case, take my arm. We'll be apparating to Diagon Alley."

He perked up at that. "Oh? Is that like popping?"

Harry elaborated at her questioning glance. "This." he said, and turned on the spot. A second later, he materialized on McGonagall's other side with a loud pop. The look of shock on her face almost had him laughing out loud.

"Mister Potter! Never in my- How- Never mind. Young man! What if a muggle had seen you?"

"Sorry." he said, unapologetically. "But is that what I've been doing all along, apparating?"

The witch fixed him with a stern glare, and Harry could actually feel the thin hairs on his neck standing upright.

"Yes. But I suggest that you do not do so again. It is in fact illegal to apparate without a license."

"Oh. Okay then."

He chose not to tell her of his other abilities, which he and Dudley had been secretly practicing when Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were not around.

He grasped the proffered arm, and immediately felt the familiar tug and squeeze associated with apparition. His vision briefly went dark, before all his senses were assaulted beyond anything he had ever experienced.

Hesitantly opening his eyes, Harry was greeted with an image that would remain etched into his mind forever.

Long and narrow streets, paved with cobblestones stretched as far as the eye could see, with hundreds of people hurriedly stumbling past one another. On either side he saw several shops, both small and large, with everything from books and clothes to things he could not even begin to discern.

He did not think he had ever heard so much noise in one place; not even the few malls he visited over the past couple of months were so crowded.

"You'll catch flies standing like that, Mister Potter."

Harry's attention snapped to the professor, who was looking at him with something akin to amusement. He closed his gaping mouth, shaking his head in disbelief when a wizard suddenly flew past him on a broomstick.

"Sorry, it's just, wow. So, er, where are we going first?" he asked.

McGonagall rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I believe a good place to start would be Madam Malkin's. You'll need a set of robes for school, after all."

He looked at her in horror. "But I've already got clothes! I don't want to wear a dress!"

His professor did not even bat an eye at his response. "You will wear robes like everyone else, Mister Potter, and that's final."

He dipped his head dejectedly, imagining what his uncle would think if he were here. McGonagall then led him through the busy street, all the while patiently answering the numerous questions he would have regarding the new world around him.

His eyes lingered on a beautiful snowy owl perched behind the window of a pet store; observing its fluffy white feathers and the way odd way it kept turning its head in awe.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and blushed slightly when his professor cleared her throat.

"Beautiful though that owl may be, we do not have all day to spend admiring it." she admonished, although the corner of her lip twitched with hidden mirth.

"Luckily, Madam Malkin's is just across the street. After you."

For some reason, Harry felt slightly nervous.


	4. Shopping and Death Eaters

Draco Malfoy was among the strangest individuals Harry had ever encountered. He was full of opinions, most of which did not even seem to be his own. He also appeared to act with a sense of superiority, yet many of the things he said hinted at more than a few underlying insecurities.

All in all, Harry was able to deduce two things from the boy. He was afraid of being sorted into Hufflepuff, and was the magical equivalent to a seven-year-old Dudley.

That had been another piece of news; he had not known Hogwarts sorted its students into four different houses. His aunt and uncle had only filled him in on the bare minimum – most of it being rather unpleasant information. He almost preferred the version of his parents dying in a car crash.

The blond boy had proven to be a great source of knowledge, and Harry had subtly interrogated him, while ignoring his rather blatant prejudices. There was something about Draco that intrigued him; he was a child who, despite the image he portrayed, seemed to be more bark than bite.

Perhaps there was a way to find out what he was truly like, underneath the plethora of masks he insisted on wearing.

It did not take long to get fitted for robes, considering the magical equipment made the usually tedious tasks of measuring and tailoring nearly instant.

Harry and Professor McGonagall had visited the bookstore next, called Flourish and Blotts, and Harry had been quite excited to pick out his new schoolbooks. He was itching to read through them as soon as he had time, and had already decided to begin with 'A History of Magic'.

Now, only two stops remained. Harry had to yet to get his wand, something he was very much looking forward to, and lastly they would visit the bank.

"You know, I forgot to ask, why didn't we go to the bank first?" he asked, staying close to the professor to ensure he did not get lost in the crowd.

"Two reasons, Mister Potter. Firstly, because expenses related to your schooling are covered by Hogwarts. This is the standard for all… orphans. Secondly, and most importantly, because I do not wish to have to explain to your aunt why you have brought half the Alley home with you."

He had to give her credit, the old witch was far more sharp than he expected.

"I would never." he assured her, whistling a little tune. He could have sworn he heard her mutter something about 'James Potter' and 'Merlin have mercy'.

* * *

It had taken him so long to find his wand that McGonagall actually left, stating that she would merely take a stroll while leaving him in Ollivander's capable hands.

Not so capable, Harry traitorously thought, given that the old man must have handed him his one-hundredth incompatible wand by now. Ollivander himself seemed completely unbothered by the lack of progress, however. In fact, with each new wand he handed over the man became more and more excited.

Harry was about to give his latest prospective wand a wave, when it was promptly snatched out of his hand.

"No! Absolutely not! I'd rather not have my shop blown apart, thank you very much!"

Harry refrained from asking why he had been handed that wand in the first place, then.

"Er, Mister Ollivander, I don't think this is working. Maybe there's just no wand that's right for me?"

The wandmaker shook his head and frowned as though offended.

"Nonsense! There must be some- Oh… I wonder…"

Before he had a chance to ask what was on the old man's mind, he had already disappeared behind a tall shelf; the only sign of his continued existence being loud rumbles and clattering.

Harry must have stood waiting for at least ten minutes, when Ollivander suddenly reappeared, holding a small black case and panting from exhaustion.

"Here, Mister Potter. Now, this wand… I remember crafting it a long time ago." he said, pausing dramatically while removing the wand from its case.

"Eleven inches long, made of holly with a phoenix feather core. A most unusual combination."

Harry was handed the wand almost reverently, and he somehow knew it was the right one even before his hand grasped the handle.

Warmth. Light. Power.

All those things Harry experienced during the most intense couple of seconds of his life. In that moment, he felt as though he could do anything. In those marvelous, wonderful seconds, nothing was beyond him.

It came as quickly as it passed.

He kept staring down at his new wand in wonder, despite the rush of power long having faded away. Harry barely even registered Ollivander's shocked expression or the ringing of the shopkeeper's bell as McGonagall reentered the establishment.

He did, however, hear the unmistakable hoot of an owl.

* * *

Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

Run by goblins.

Harry was fascinated to see the little creatures, no taller than he was, scurrying about the polished marble floor of the great bank. He absentmindedly stroked the feathers of his new owl, courtesy of his professor, through the cage which was carefully held in his arms.

She must have caught his longing stares, earlier, and he decided there and then to get McGonagall something nice for Christmas as a token of his gratitude.

The bank itself looked more like a palace, giving a grand impression with its incredibly high ceiling, supported by several tall pillars. On the end of the hall stood a large counter, where a number of goblins sat occupied by paperwork. It was almost entirely silent, with the exception of shuffling feet and the scribbling of quills on parchment.

He and Professor McGonagall reached the edge of the counter, looking up at the particularly vicious face of an old goblin. McGonagall cleared her throat.

The goblin did not meet her gaze, instead continuing to do whatever it was goblins did.

Harry vaguely recalled some fairy tales and fantasy novels involving goblins, where some would be nothing but savage, impish beasts while others portrayed them as prideful yet cunning warriors.

The latter seemed to better fit reality, and so he made up his mind.

"Excuse me, Master Goblin?" he stated confidently.

The goblin finally shifted his gaze from the piece of parchment he was reading, and looked down at Harry through narrowed eyes.

"I wish to make a withdrawal."

The wizened creature kept staring at him over his long, crooked nose.

"Name."

"Harry Potter." he answered, and managed to see a brief flicker of emotion in the goblins eyes.

"Ah, I see. Your key, please."

At that Harry completely lost his composure, and turned to McGonagall with a sheepish look on his face. "Do you know what he's talking about, Professor?"

She answered by reaching into the pocket of her robe and pulling out a small golden key, placing it on the top of the counter along with a white, sealed envelope.

The goblin inspected both of them carefully, before nodding in satisfaction.

"Very well. Griphook will see you to your vaults."

* * *

Amycus Carrow, proud Death Eater – although he would publicly deny it – and husband to his own sister Alecto, staggered and stumbled through the streets of London in a state of inebriety.

He had spent the night at the Leaky Cauldron, where he had been subject to many cold and unwelcoming stares. Tom, the bartender, had reluctantly served him round after round of firewhiskey, until finally throwing him out of the bar when he began to rant about all the mudbloods and blood traitors around him.

If that was not a sign of the world being run into the ground, he did not know what was.

To make matters worse, his two twin daughters would be heading off to Hogwarts for their first year in only a month's time. He was dismayed to place them in the care of Albus Dumbledore and wondered if it would not be more merciful to simply kill them.

He did not pretend that there was any lost love between them.

A filthy muggle brushed against him as it passed by, and Amycus' hand twitched instinctively toward his wand. A whisper of 'Crucio' was about to leave his lips when a terrifyingly calm voice whispered in his ear.

"I would refrain from doing that, if I were you."

A hand grasped him brutally by the neck, before his vision went black and he was sent careening into a… tree?

He opened his eyes and looked around hazily, seeing anything but the dark alleyways of London he had previously wandered. Instead, he was surrounded by tall, gloomy trees, which made up a dimly lit forest; the leaves glittering softly under the moonlight.

A long, dragged out howl had him quickly on his feet, only to stumble back to the ground when the effects of his alcohol consumption kicked in once again.

"Ugh. Wh- Where..." he slurred, growing silent when he saw the outline of a shadowy figure approach him.

"That is the least of your concerns, mortal."

It was the same voice from earlier, and he did not fail to notice the barely contained disgust behind the last word. A second later and his entire body was ravaged by burning light, searing and melting its way though skin, muscle and bone.

Amycus screamed.

He had never felt such pain in his life, not even when under his Lord's Cruciatus curse. Whereas the Unforgivable would feel like a thousand knives cutting you across every inch of your body, this light ruthlessly liquified and charred him until he could only stare in horror at what he had become.

His lower half was now reduced to nothing but a puddle of organic waste; the smoke reaching his nostrils carrying with it a stench that nearly had him retching. Burns covered the rest of his skin, which was now completely blistered and thickened; his clothing long since reduced to ash.

He screamed again, this time in terror rather than pain, but even that was quickly remedied when his arms suddenly separated themselves from his shoulders. The severed appendages dropped down beside him with a thud, rolling away a short distance from the carried momentum.

"Silence." the voice hissed, angry and annoyed. An agonized and tortured Amycus was barely able to make out a tanned, angular face, with long chunks of black hair spiked in impossible directions.

Somehow, the man's quiet voice managed to make itself heard perfectly despite his screams and wails. A hand was placed against his forehead, and this time he could easily make out the sadistic grin on the man's – no, monster's – face. He wished the monster would simply put him out of his misery.

"Oh, don't worry, mortal. We've only just begun! I won't kill you yet…"

The demon let out a low, cruel laugh.

* * *

Black sifted through roughly forty years of memories, observing how the despicable mortal had grown up in a household where nearly every imaginable sin was commonplace.

The only reason he had not already exterminated the pest was because he could provide valuable insight into the magical community where Harry lived. Telepathy was a power he had possessed as a Kai, and much to his delight, was still available to him as a saiyan.

It was only fitting, after all, and served to contribute to his indisputable divinity. Gods were supposed to be omniscient.

Black filtered away some of the more disgusting memories and focused on the most important details, such as Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as the Great Wizarding War.

It turned out that Harry Potter was a great deal more special than even he had first thought. He had supposedly vanquished the evil Dark Lord Voldemort through the power of love.

How interesting.

He removed his hand from the dying man's head, who he now knew was a Death Eater named Amycus Carrow, and observed how the mortal whimpered pathetically.

"Let's see now, where were we? Oh, yes, that's right..."


	5. The Hogwarts Express

The Daily Prophet

Death Eater Eater? Missing Amycus Carrow Found!

By: Rita Skeeter

As most of the esteemed readers are no doubt aware, the disappearance of Amycus Carrow has been a hot topic for discussion over the last couple of weeks. The male Carrow was reported missing by none other than his wife, Alecto Carrow, in early August.

Local barman and owner of The Leaking Caulron, Tom, recalls being forced to ask the man to leave his establishment after harassing other patrons with bigoted slurs. Since then, not a single soul had been aware of the missing man's whereabouts.

However, thanks to recent developments, this reporter is privileged to be the one able to inform you that Aurors and Unspeakables have managed to trace, and locate, the missing Mr. Carrow.

Using an ingenious combination of magical and muggle methods, the skilled employees of the Ministry of Magic were able to narrow down Mr. Carrow's location to the Forest of Dean, in Gloucestershire.

What they, and dare I say, no one, expected to find was a virtually unrecognizable corpse, mutilated in ways too graphic to even consider detailing in this article. Only the residual magical signature on the corpse allowed it to be identified as belonging to Amycus Carrow.

There is no doubt in this reporter's mind that this unfortunate event is in fact a gruesome instance of murder; an opinion shared by a clear majority of Ministry employees who were graceful enough to allow an interview.

With this horrifying deed brought to light, all that remains is to uncover a possible motive. Again, as most readers are aware, Mr. Carrow was at one point a suspected Death Eater. Perhaps there is someone out there who did not believe he was placed under the Imperius curse – an excuse claimed by several prominent members of wizarding society.

Could we be witnessing the birth of a vindictive vigilante, an Eater of Death Eaters, set on bringing justice to the numerous families torn apart by the Great War? Or is it instead a dangerous example of someone considering themselves above the law?

Only you, the readers, can decide.

For more information on the Carrow family, see page 11.

* * *

Black incinerated the newspaper with a sneer. Out of all three-hundred and forty-one words in her article, only one was appropriate and worthy of his attention.

Justice.

His action gained him a number of turned heads, to which he did not spare a second thought. All the mortals around him were magical, and while they may not regularly incinerate newspapers in public it was nothing so extreme as to garner more than a moment's attention.

Black never even intended to kill anyone, a fact which bothered him more than he would like to admit. He, much like Amycus Carrow, had simply found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. What was intended as a day's respite on Earth quickly turned into something far darker and more unpleasant.

Which led him to his next observation. Since when had he allowed himself the luxury of picking and choosing which worlds to purge and which ones to spare?

The answer came easily, and he sighed audibly.

Since Harry.

Leaning back against one of the many brick walls supporting the integrity of the train station, he glanced at the large clock mounted at the very top of one of the pilasters. It was nearly eleven o'clock.

The large, red locomotive stationed on the tracks in front of him let out a high-pitched sound in preparation of its departure. Black was beginning to tap his fingers impatiently against the side of his leg when he finally saw Harry stumble through the entrance portal.

The sight was almost ridiculous; the boy was half-running, half-falling while holding onto his cart for dear life. An owl hooted desperately from atop his trunk, which was only seconds from tipping over the edge of the cart.

Reacting instinctively, Black pushed himself off the wall and held out a hand, catching the trunk and making sure the boy did not send himself crashing into the ground.

"If you're going for a dramatic entrance, I don't think this is the best way to do it."

Harry steadied himself and looked up at his savior. It was rather amusing to see the boy do a double take.

"Mister Goku!" he exclaimed and launched himself into Black with outstretched arms.

He froze.

His arms hung limply at his sides, and he could feel his eyes growing wider by the second. This was not happening. He was not being… hugged.

He was a god. A killer. He did not do hugs. Yet, Black reached up with a hand to awkwardly pat the boy on his head.

"Yes. Hello Harry."

That was probably the most plain and ineloquent line he had ever uttered. Thankfully, the boy unwrapped himself from his waist and stood up straight.

That was when he noticed the changes.

Harry was taller and had begun to fill out, compared to the scrawny and almost emaciated boy from over a year ago. He no longer wore glasses, and the green Potara still hung from his left ear, proudly on display.

A flicker of warmth grew in the depths of his chest, and Black idly wondered what it could be. Pride perhaps?

No. He dismissed the notion. Pride was for fools.

Steam blew out from the front of the train; the accompanying sound piercing his thoughts almost agonizingly.

"You'd best hurry and get aboard the train, Harry. Unless you truly intend to persist on these dramatic entrances, in which case I could fly you to your new school."

Harry goggled at him.

"Of course, I can't guarantee that you won't be expelled. That would be a shame."

The boy laughed nervously at that.

"Thanks, but I think I'll settle for the train. Maybe next year?" he replied, and Black nodded in mock thoughtfulness.

He gave Harry a pat on the back and lightly led him towards the locomotive, which now chugged with power.

"Hurry along now."

The boy carefully stepped onto the floor of the train, while Black easily lifted his possessions out of the cart and placed them beside him.

"There." he said, stepping back. "Now, make sure to study well. No slacking off. Tea helps keep you awake if you ever find yourself losing concentration."

Harry stared at him weirdly but nodded in understanding.

"And be sure to make some… friends… as well." he added. That was the point of the experiment, after all.

Humanity's redemption.

When the train suddenly began moving, Black found himself in a remarkably similar position to the many mortals around him, who were waving goodbye to their children. He could hear Harry's voice calling out to him and smiled slightly at his words.

"Bye Mister Goku! Thanks for coming to see me off!"

* * *

Harry could not believe that Mister Goku had actually come to the platform. For a brief second, he had felt just like all the other children, ushered into the train and sent off with heartfelt goodbyes.

That was not to say that his Aunt and Uncle had not seen him off; they had, but on the muggle side of the platform. Once he had found the courage to follow through on Professor McGonagall's instructions and ran through the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Harry was instantly made aware of how alone he was.

Mister Goku quickly put an end to that, however.

Once on the train, Harry carefully pushed his way past all the other loud and desperate children. He was reminded of the time he spent Easter in Spain with his family, and the frenzied mess people would make aboard the aircraft. Especially once they landed and were about to exit the plane.

He shuddered at the memory.

There were compartments on either side of the train, and all were lettered in alphabetic order. He headed for those in the back, considering that the front would most likely already be occupied.

Eventually he settled down in the empty and appropriately named compartment 'P', and unsuccessfully attempted to heave his trunk onto the rack above the seats. He endured several minutes of continued failure before giving up.

Bitterly, Harry let the trunk fall to the floor and opened it. He pulled out 'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1' and flipped through the pages until he found the Levitation Charm.

He remembered reading the book at home and figured this would be a good occasion for a first attempt. The book said it only required a simple swish and flick, along with the correct incantation.

Once he had memorized the instructions, Harry reached inside the pocket of his pants and drew his wand. A very faint tingly feeling raced up his arm, slightly reminiscent of the moment Ollivander's.

He pointed his wand at the trunk, going through the necessary motions for the charm.

Taking a deep breath, he swished and flicked. "Wingardium Leviosa."

Nothing happened.

"Oh, for crying out-" Harry began in frustration, when the door to his compartment was suddenly swung open by a distressed girl with very bushy hair.

She barged inside without so much as a word to him, throwing herself and her trunk into the corner of the compartment. He was about to question her when he saw tears trickling down her cheek. Wary and unsure of how to approach such a situation, Harry slowly edged closer to her and tried to speak as comfortingly as possible.

"Er… Hey… What's wrong?" he asked lamely. The girl just sobbed, giving him timid glances through her fingers.

In a split-second decision he sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. He winced when the girl let out a particularly loud sob and chose to bury her wet face in his chest.

This was not how Harry had intended to begin his first day of school, but he could not in good conscience ask her to move away from him. The pair sat in relative silence for at least another half hour, broken only by steadily diminishing sobs.

"So, do you want to, like, talk about it?" he asked.

The girl slowly pulled away from him, rubbing her face clean of dried tears with the sleeve of her jumper. She shook her head, implying a negative, and looked away in a mixture of sadness and embarrassment.

He knew that expression, having worn it numerous times himself. It was one which would remain etched onto her face for a very long time, unless someone or something helped dissolve it.

"Say…" he began. "You wouldn't happen to know how to perform a Levitation Charm, would you?"

* * *

Hermione Granger was having a very bad day.

Bouts of homesickness had already begun to debut, and her mood only worsened from when she was insulted by that awful, blond boy. The reality of her situation finally dawned on her.

She had been sent into a completely foreign world, where everything she knew no longer applied. Here, she had no parents to support her. No friends, although that was hardly anything new. She had nothing.

What Hermione had first considered to be a blessing, a blank slate on which to prove herself to the world, had promptly turned into a disaster.

She was still a nobody. Worse even, she was a Mudblood – despised solely for the circumstances of her birth, by people who did not know the first thing about her. At least she found an opportunity to cry away most of her sorrow and despair.

"So, do you want to, like, talk about it?" the boy asked.

Hermione shook her head and looked away, thinking that the boy would send her away in disgust once she revealed her identity.

"Say… You wouldn't happen to know how to perform a Levitation Charm, would you?"

At that she couldn't help but turn around, finding a pair of beautiful, sparkling green eyes staring back at her.


	6. Hermione

Those same bright, green eyes stayed locked with Hermione's own for what seemed like an eternity. She found herself beginning to get lost in them, finally realizing the truth behind the expression that 'eyes are the window to the soul'.

The boy kept staring at her expectantly, and Hermione recalled that she had been asked a question. She blushed embarrassedly and hurried to reply.

"Oh! Well, I've read through all our course material, of course, but I've never attempted the charm itself."

She immediately winced at her response, feeling dread when the boy raised an eyebrow.

He would hate her. She knew it. She had come off too strong and now he would call her an insufferable know-it-all and shove her out of the compartment.

"Wow! I've only had time to read about half of it, myself. You must be a really fast learner!"

Hermione gaped at him.

"Anyway" he continued. "I've been trying to get my trunk up on the rack for a really long time now, but it just won't float."

Her jaw snapped shut and she noticed the open book that was lying on the seat opposite her.

"Would you mind helping me out?"

Help him out? Like a _professor_?

"M-me?" she began shyly, before curiosity and excitement got the better of her. "Of course! You can try performing the spell again while I check the book to make sure you're doing it right."

She grabbed the book and moved to sit next to the boy.

"I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. Who're you?"

The boy smiled.

"Harry Potter."

* * *

Harry was happy to see he had managed to lighten up the mood, but sighed exasperatedly when Hermione nearly fainted upon hearing his name.

He was still not used to wizards and witches tripping over themselves just to get a look at him. He felt like the snake Dudley and he had been observing at the zoo last summer. Harry was still not sure if he had been imagining things when he heard the snake hissing something about 'stupid humans'.

Thankfully, Hermione did not pester him about his scar and a bunch of other details, like the saleswitch at Flourish and Blotts. The girl seemed far more interested in their pursuit of successfully levitating trunks.

"Alright, Harry. You can try the charm now."

He nodded, repeating the process of swishing and flicking. "Wingardium Leviosa" he intoned.

Like before, nothing happened. Unlike before, however, Hermione was there to giggle at his misfortune.

"It's really not that funny." he grumbled, and she instantly sobered. Harry cursed himself for forgetting that the girl had been crying only moments ago, and might still be on edge.

"S-sorry. It's just that… You're saying it wrong. It's Levi-oh-sa, not Levio-sah."

She pointed to the part in the book that mentioned the phonetics of the incantation, and he gave it a once over before smacking his face with the palm of his hand.

In his defense, he had never bothered with learning the phonetic alphabet. A mistake which he would rectify as soon as possible given how important it was for spell casting.

He swished and flicked; this time making sure to pronounce the incantation correctly.

To his astonishment, the trunk rose into the air, and Harry played around with it for a while before gently placing it on top of the rack above his head. He turned to Hermione with a bright smile and sat back down next to her, giving her a tight hug of gratitude.

"Thanks Hermione, you're the best!"

Her deep, red blush made Harry laugh out loud, and he imagined this must be what adults feel like when they tease their children. It certainly put things into perspective, and now he knew why they enjoyed doing it so much.

He then levitated her trunk onto the rack as well, fascinated by how well it responded to the movements of his wand.

Magic was awesome.

* * *

"Harry, do you think we'll be in the same house?" Hermione asked, while listening to the steady chugging of the Hogwarts' Express.

"Depends on which house you're aiming for, I suppose." he replied. "Speaking of, which house are you aiming for, Hermione?" he continued, with a little smirk.

She considered the question carefully. None of the houses sounded bad, per se, except maybe Slytherin. As a muggleborn, she was not looking forward to being sorted into the house where all prejudiced people supposedly went.

Ravenclaw sounded nice, but ever since reading about Albus Dumbledore, Hermione really wished to follow in his footsteps. She too wanted to become a powerful and respected member of wizarding society; someone who could make changes for the better.

"Gryffindor, I think. I read all about it in 'Hogwarts: A History' and it sounds amazing. What about you?"

She was genuinely curious, although she personally felt that someone like Harry was bound for Gryffindor as well. He was just so friendly and incredible. And the way he pulled off the Levitation Charm straight away probably meant he was powerful too.

"Same, I suppose." came the boy's vague reply. "Although I really don't mind either way. We'll just have to wait and see."

Hermione could accept that. However, a tiny, nagging feeling began to gnaw away at her insides.

What if she and Harry did not get into the same house? Would she be all alone again? Would he even want to see her anymore?

"You know, we can still hang out even if we're not in the same house. Do you really think I'd ditch my first friend that quickly?"

She blushed and shook her head, wondering if the boy in front of her had somehow read her mind.

"No, but your expression makes it obvious what you're thinking about."

"Harry!" she exclaimed, about to berate him when the compartment door slid open.

A short, slightly rotund elderly lady smiled at them warmly. "Anything from the trolley dears?"

Hermione shook her head once again, not having any galleons to pay with. Harry, on the other hand, smirked almost evilly and gained a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"We'll take the lot."

* * *

"Er… Hermione? I think you should try out a charm of your own."

Indeed, Harry thought it was high time they locked the door to their compartment. He knew from experience that news travelled fast, and it would not be long before the entire train was made aware that two first years in compartment 'P' were the reason behind the trolley lady running out of stock.

He relayed as much to Hermione, and she scrambled to her feet, reaching for the almost forgotten book. The two huddled together, hurriedly leafing through the various pages until they found what they were searching for.

"There! The Locking Spell!"

He looked down at the paragraph Hermione was pointing at.

"Nice! And the incantation is Colloportus…" Harry said, rubbing his chin in thought. "It shouldn't be that difficult and the wand movement looks pretty simple. Give it a go, I'm sure you can do it!"

She smiled and nodded, reaching for her wand. Harry blanched when he saw her pull it out, remembering something Ollivander had told him.

"Hermione… I don't think your back pocket is the best place to keep your wand. What if it snaps or you accidentally light your butt on fire?"

Ollivander had said that while still bad, the only pockets you should ever keep your wand in are those in the front. Either that or inside your robes, and if you really wanted to go professional, a wand holster.

Hermione stammered and then blushed at the mention of her butt. "I'll keep that in mind, Harry."

She raised her wand, and Harry admired its craftsmanship. It was a pale brown, almost beige color, and carved in such a manner that vines appeared to crawl up from its base.

"Colloportus!" she intoned, giving her wand a small twirl. The metallic sound of a lock clicking into place resounded in the compartment, and he gave her a proud smile.

"Wow! On your first try, too! You really are amazing, Hermione!"

She stuttered a quiet reply; face growing even more red than it already was. He realized it was very easy to tease the poor girl and wondered if he should spare her the compliments.

It was surprisingly easy to dismiss the thought.

"I-It's nothing, Harry. You managed the Levitation Charm on your first try too!"

Harry supposed she was right.

"Guess we're both amazing, then, right?" he told her, grinning.

Hermione wished Harry would stop complimenting her all the time. She could feel the heat in her face each time he did and thought she would die of embarrassment.

She ignored the small voice in the back of her head, whispering that she actually enjoyed it. That Harry was merely giving her the appreciation and acknowledgement she had been striving for, ever since she first started primary school.

* * *

Hermione stared through the window, mesmerized by the sight as the train dutifully traversed the beautiful Scottish Highlands. She glanced at her wristwatch, wondering how much time had passed since they departed, and was shocked to find that it was already five o'clock in the afternoon.

"Harry!"

The boy had fallen asleep sometime earlier, once the attempts to enter their compartment and angry banging had ceased. She almost felt bad about waking him up, seeing how soundly he slept and the tiny, contented smile on his face.

She shook him by the shoulders. "Harry!" she repeated.

"Ah- Ugh- Huh? Wha-" he grunted.

"We're arriving in less than an hour and we haven't even changed into our robes yet!"

"Oh, bloody hell." he muttered.

She gasped. "Language, Harry! And maybe you could levitate our trunks back down, please?"

He did so, and proceeded to pick out his robes from inside his trunk. Hermione expected him to ask her to turn around when he changed, and when he did not, a blush crept up her neck for what must have been the millionth time.

"Honestly, don't you have any semblance of modesty?" she asked, while he struggled to pull the foreign piece of clothing over his head. It looked completely silly.

"Harry, I think that part is supposed to go around you, not over your head."

He now looked like a cross between a cocoon and a bat, with several layers of clothing wrapped around him and the part that should have covered his legs flapping uselessly behind his arms.

"I think you're right, Hermione."

Eventually, with some help, he managed to get into the robes as they were meant to be worn. He muttered his thanks and sat down, tugging at the long sleeves. Harry had told her he was not too keen on wearing what he considered to be a dress.

Hermione thought it suited him, although she would rather be caught dead than heard admitting it out loud. She thought he looked like an elf straight out of Lord of the Rings, especially with the way his eyes seemed to glow.

"Hey, Mister!" she said, now glaring at him.

He looked at her innocently.

"Don't think I'm letting you look while I change! Get up and turn around!"

Harry gave her a long and suffering sigh of mock disappointment and complied, standing up slowly before turning around to face the door.

"And after I gave you a free show and everything…" he mumbled, to which she went bright scarlet and thanked the gods – or was it Merlin now – that he had his back turned.

It was just her luck to find what had to be the only boy of her age mature enough to understand, and at times even suggest, such improprieties.

She hurried to undress, replacing her muggle clothes with the witch's outfit she purchased in Diagon Alley. Once she folded and placed her clothes back inside her trunk, she finally allowed Harry to turn around.

He looked at her and broke out into hysterical laughter.

"Pointy hat and everything!"


	7. Gryffindor?

Hogwarts Castle was the most beautiful, marvelous and enthralling thing Harry had ever seen.

Diagon Alley could not hold a candle to the sight of the castle rising from the opposite side of the lake. Its great walls and towers gleamed under the twilight; rays of orange light giving it an almost ethereal beauty.

The castle was so large it seemed to go on forever; towers rising into the very clouds themselves. The many windows adorning its walls glowed with a soft, warm yellow, accentuating the radiance of the setting sun.

The wind blew gently against his skin as the small boat slowly moved forward, splitting the still water and creating small ripples along its sides. He wished this moment could last forever.

A small hand grasped hold of his, and he looked at Hermione who was seated to his right. Harry imagined that her face must have matched his own, because the wonder and amazement in her eyes mirrored his feelings perfectly.

"It's so beautiful…" she whispered.

"It is." he agreed, and they both resumed their enraptured gazing.

* * *

"Over 'ere!" shouted Rubeus Hagrid, a humungous man with a long beard and pitch-black eyes.

In contrast to his imposing size, Hagrid's eyes shone with warmth and even his loud voice carried with it a friendly tone that would make anyone feel safe and welcome.

Harry wondered if that was the reason why the giant of a man apparently guided all the first-year students through their voyage to the castle.

The group of first-years huddled together, trailing along after Hagrid as he led them through the courtyard and up the stairs to the castle entrance.

Hermione had not left his side since leaving the train, and was currently pressed closely against him in an effort to not get lost in the crowd. Harry's mind flashed back to when he had done the same with Professor McGonagall in Diagon Alley.

"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall." he heard Hagrid say once he had opened the massive doors.

"Thank you, Hagrid" a familiar and very strict voice replied, and Harry felt a fond smile spread across his face. The day he spent with his Professor had been one of the best in his life.

They walked inside, and as Harry stepped over the threshold to the castle he could feel the magic seeping into his very being, warming him and filling him with a sense of excitement and adventure.

The entrance hall itself was large enough to fit his house inside it several times over. At the far end was a large staircase, which according to the Professor would lead to the Great Hall.

They came to a halt at the top of the staircase, and McGonagall turned to them with a serious expression.

She then proceeded to welcome them all to Hogwarts, and began detailing the events that would take place during the evening. She was interrupted when a chubby boy suddenly burst out of the crowd, reaching down for a toad he had spotted nearby.

"Trevor!" he exclaimed, until he caught sight of McGonagall's narrowed eyes, upon which he eeped and quickly rejoined the group of first years.

"As I was saying..." she continued. "The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and has produced many outstanding witches and wizards."

Harry briefly wondered if she had named them in order of personal affection, until he realized it was merely in alphabetical order. He knew she was head of Gryffindor, but that appeared to be a mere coincidence. McGonagall certainly did not seem like the type to hold favorites.

"The Hogwarts Houses will be somewhat akin to your family while here, and your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will result in a loss of points."

She paused, no doubt to make sure they all understood the severity of her statement, and Hermione pinched him in the side. She must have thought he was not paying enough attention to the professor.

"The sorting ceremony will take place shortly, in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you smarten yourselves up as much as possible. I shall return when we are ready for you."

McGonagall left the chamber, as well as a large number of now nervous students in her wake. Harry heard the boy with toad anxiously ask a redhead next to him if he knew how they would be sorted.

"I don't know." the redhead replied. "My brothers told me it would be some kind of test, really painful. Maybe we'll have to fight a troll?"

The chubby boy whimpered in fright, while Harry audibly snorted.

That would be ridiculous. What kind of school would purposely injure their students just to sort them into a house? Hermione seemed to share that opinion, from the disdainful glare she sent in the redhead's direction.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." she muttered under her breath, however, her tense tone betrayed unease.

"Yeah. It's probably a personality test of some sort. You know, based on the founders' preferred characteristics. I think it said something like that in Hogwarts: A History."

Hermione blinked at him. "That actually sounds pretty reasonable." she admitted.

Then ghosts appeared.

* * *

As it turns out, it did come down to a personality test. Apparently, they had to put on a magical hat which would sort them into their respective houses. To Harry's surprise, the hat had just sung them all a song.

He clapped politely and joined the other first years as they formed into a line, and would be called forward to sit down on a stool at the end of the hall, right before the head table.

Hermione had just finished citing a passage about the enchanted ceiling when Professor McGonagall called out the first name.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

The professor placed the hat on her head, and there was a momentary pause of silence.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat, and the table to Harry's immediate right burst out in cheers.

'Bones, Susan', was also sorted into Hufflepuff, until the next boy to be sorted was sent off to Ravenclaw. 'Brown, Lavender', however, became the first Gryffindor to be sorted.

After a few minutes he noticed Hermione growing restless, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You'll be fine."

His reassurance came just in time, as the next name to be called was indeed "Granger, Hermione!". Hermione walked up to the stool, all the while repeating his words.

"I'll be fine, I'll be fine, I'll be fine…" he heard her whisper over and over, and was slightly annoyed when someone in the crowd muttered something about 'Mental, that one'.

Hermione nervously jammed the hat over her head, and after a couple of minutes - the longest sorting yet - it roared "GRYFFINDOR!", and the table to the far right exploded with cheers and applause. Hermione shot him a look of relief and happiness, and walked off to join her new housemates.

Harry smiled back, and then watched as 'Longbottom, Neville' was sorted into Gryffindor as well. He was secretly surprised that the timid boy hade made into the house of the brave, but decided not to judge a book by its cover.

Eventually 'Malfoy, Draco' was called up, and he recognized the pale, pointy-faced blond boy he had met inside Madam Malkin's. He was sorted into "SLYTHERIN!" without the hat even touching a single strand of his hair.

After a rather pretty girl named 'Moon, Lily' was sorted into Slytherin too, Harry began to zone out. Standing still for so long was making his legs go numb, and his mind drifted to thoughts of all the magic he would learn. Perhaps there even was a counter-spell against numb legs.

When he heard two girls with the surname Patil get sorted, Harry snapped back into attention. They had reached 'P', and it was only a matter of seconds before he would get sorted as well.

He felt his heart rate increase and took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. There was nothing to be nervous about. It was just a sorting.

In front of the entire school. What if he tripped on his way up?

"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall suddenly called out, and his heart jerked as though he had been defibrillated.

Harry straightened his back and walked past the parting sea of students, whose neat line had long since been broken up. The entire hall grew silent, with the exception of a few low murmurs and whispers.

"Potter, did she say?"

" _The_ Harry Potter?"

Harry reached the end of the hall and met McGonagall's eyes. She gave him a soft smile, which he gratefully returned. Right now, he did not need her usual strict look which made her lips thin to the point where they seemed non-existent.

Grasping the proffered hat, he sat down on the stool and placed it over his head.

"Oh, my…" said a small voice in his ear. "Now this is a surprise."

"Are you inside my head?" Harry thought.

"Yes… and no. I am a hat, and thus, obviously very much outside your head. However, I am able to project some of my thoughts to you, just as you are able to project your thoughts to me."

"I… see. Well, are you going to sort me then?" he asked, slightly disconcerted by the fact that a magical artifact was able to read his mind.

"Oh yes, I am. And what a mind to sort! There is bravery here, very much indeed. Yet I sense a thirst for knowledge, and an even greater need to prove yourself."

Harry nodded, acknowledging the hat's observations. He supposed it was all true, in some way or shape. He did not necessarily believe himself to be that brave, however.

"I think you'll find that bravery is perhaps your greatest quality, young Potter." the hat whispered in response. "After all, it was bravery which gained you the favor of a most… intriguing… individual."

Was the hat talking about Mister Goku?

The hat did not elaborate on its vague observation.

"Yes… Bravery. Especially when it comes to those you care about. You would go to the ends of the world for those you love… Despite love being somewhat of a novelty for you… How fascinating."

He vaguely heard a voice not belonging to the hat muttering about a 'hatstall'.

"Yes, the other students appear to be growing rather impatient, aren't they? But no matter… Mister Potter, you are undoubtedly destined for greatness. All that remains is to find the house that will best lead you to it."

"I really don't mind either way. Wherever you think is best will be fine." he said.

"Oho! Such a daring mind! It has been a pleasure to converse with you, Harry Potter. As for your house… Better be…"

Harry felt the hat tensing in preparation.

"SLYTHERIN!"

He pulled the hat off his head following the exclamation, placing it back on top of the stool.

Absolute silence reigned throughout the hall. Silence to the point where even a dropped needle would be heard falling against the stone floor.

He barely payed attention to the emblem of Slytherin House appearing on the left side of his chest, where there previously was an empty patch of fabric.

Harry looked at Professor McGonagall, who had turned as pale as a sheet. His eyes trailed along the head table, where surprisingly only the Merlin-like figure of Albus Dumbledore was smiling down at him encouragingly.

Another, feeble-looking man wearing a turban stared at him in shock, while another, greasy-haired professor beside him looked as though someone had slammed a door in his face.

Eventually, Dumbledore began clapping, which prompted the rest of the school to do the same. The applause grew into loud cheering, and most of Slytherin House even chose to stand up.

The trickle of doubt that had begun to settle was instantly replaced with joy, and Harry hurried to join his table.

"Hey, Potter! Over here!" he heard, and noticed an older girl calling him over. Seeing as he had no better alternative, Harry sat down next to her in the spot she had cleared for him.

"The name's Gemma! Wow… Of all the people to get sorted into Slytherin, I don't think anyone was expecting you!" she said, while shaking his hand excitedly.

"Er… Thanks?" he half asked, half replied.

The girl laughed and ran a hand through her wavy, chestnut hair. Harry noticed several tiny, faded freckles across her nose and cheeks.

"Oh boy, this is going to be a very interesting year!" she exclaimed cheerfully.


	8. Double Potions

AN. I don't usually post these, but I have a couple of things I'd like to say. First of all, thanks for reading and reviewing, and I hope you're all enjoying the story. The reason I'm writing this, is to tell you that some reviews aren't showing up under the 'reviews' tab. They're being counted towards the total number of reviews, but I can't actually read them. It seems to be a problem going on with the site, so if I don't respond to your review, that's why.

Also, I just want to forewarn you that most later chapters won't be posted as quickly as these first ones. I posted the first five in one go, just to see if there was any sort of interest for this kind of crossover. However, in the future, I'll be aiming to release one or two chapters per week. I want to keep some in stock in case I run into writer's block or just life in general. Rest assured that I'm in no such position yet, though!

Anyway, here's Chapter 8!

* * *

Harry Potter was happy to have been sorted into Slytherin. As he quickly found out, there were several benefits that came with being a part of the House of Snakes.

First and foremost, they had the best desserts. There was simply no doubt about it. Secondly, their common room was arguably the best as well. Of course, Harry had not seen any of the other common rooms, but it was a hunch of his.

Their common room was located in the dungeons, which to be fair, sounded a little gloomy. However, that meant the Black Lake was visible through the windows, and during the day the sun would shine through it and cast the floor and walls with a magnificent dark green color.

They also had private rooms.

 _Private rooms._

Harry had dreaded sharing a room with his housemates, no matter who they were. He shuddered when he imagined what it would be like spending seven years with people that might snore, leave litter all over the place or worse - smell.

Instead, each student had a small but perfectly functional room, with a bed and a small desk for studying.

Gemma, who Harry had found out was one of the fifth-year prefects, told them that they were encouraged to find ways to improve on their living arrangements as they grew more proficient with magic. She spoke of expanding the room, transfiguring the beds and much more. It was enough to make him lick his lips in anticipation.

Not for the first time, he thought about how amazing magic was.

"Harry, we've got double potions with the Gryffs in fifteen minutes."

He closed the potions book he had been reading to prepare himself for that very class, which also happened to be his very first class at Hogwarts. Harry heard from many older students that Snape, the Potions Master, was in many ways an even stricter teacher than McGonagall.

While he did favor the Slytherins, he also expected the best from them, and Harry was not looking forward to being on the man's bad side.

"Oh, thanks Blaise. You want to head there together?" he asked, getting up from one of the high-backed chairs in front of the fireplace.

Blaise Zabini was the last first-year to be sorted, and one of Harry's first friends in Slytherin. He was a rather tall, dark-skinned boy of Italian descent, and had a constantly aloof air about him.

Blaise shrugged in response, and the two boys exited the common room.

* * *

Hermione Granger was not happy to have been sorted into Gryffindor. Her roommates, Fay Dunbar and Lavender Brown, were both stereotypical prepubescent girls.

They would both prefer gossiping over boys instead of studying, and their prime subject for discussion just happened to be Harry Potter. For some unknown reason, it made Hermione's blood boil to hear them describe his wild hair and gorgeous eyes, and the way he had smiled during the sorting ceremony. Her mood worsened when Ron Weasley bumped into her in the common room and pestered her over how she had already begun reading up on her schoolwork.

Following that, the boy even had the gall to ask her if she could do his homework for him! For the entire year!

She promptly told him no, picking up her bag and heading down early to the dungeons. It would not do to be late for class, after all.

Hermione was glad she chose to head down to the potions classroom in advance, given how difficult it was to navigate the corridors of the castle. She did not think she would ever get used to the moving staircases, not even after seven years.

The dungeons were dark and cold. When she leaned against a wall outside the classroom, she could feel the moisture seeping through her robes. It had her quickly back on her feet, unsupported.

Having nowhere else to be, Hermione entered the dimly lit potions classroom and sat down behind an empty desk. She noticed there were two chairs behind each desk and wondered if all potions classes would be performed in pairs.

Preferably not. It would be just her luck to be paired with someone who would ruin her efforts at every turn.

It did not take long before other students arrived, chatting animatedly with each other and taking up some of the remaining seats. It tore at Hermione's heart to see how all her peers had already managed to make friends, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness inside.

She remembered Harry's words, that they could spend time despite being in different houses. It only made her feel slightly better, however. It was inevitable that they would grow apart. He would find others worthier of his time and she would be back at square one; the lonely bookworm.

When Draco Malfoy strutted into the classroom as though he owned it, Hermione tensed and tried to make herself as small as possible. Trailing behind him were two brutish boys she recognized from their confrontation on the train.

"Merlin, I never thought I'd see the day when this many Mudbloods were allowed into Hogwarts. Father always did say Dumbledore was running the school into the ground, but to see it with my own eyes…"

Some of the other students within earshot gasped at that, but did not voice any argument. Meanwhile, his two lackeys grunted in agreement.

Hermione wanted to lay into him. She had so much to tell him, specifically in which part of his sickly pale body he could shove his bigoted ideas. She was so lost in impotent rage that she did not notice her fists clenching and pushing against the wooden desk until it creaked loudly.

"What's this?" Malfoy said; his cold grey eyes finding hers. "Granger, was it? I suppose you would take offense, wouldn't you?"

He moved closer to her; the only thing standing between them being a second empty desk.

"You filthy little Mudblood." he whispered, before walking back to find a seat of his own.

Or rather, he would have, if Ron Weasley had not been standing in his way.

"How dare you?!" he shouted. "Apologize to her right now, you slimy snake!"

More students had filled the classroom, with nearly every seat occupied by children who were now observing the spectacle transpiring before them interestedly.

"Red hair, freckles, second hand clothes… Ah, you must be a Weasley." Malfoy said, injecting a rather substantial amount of disgust into the name.

Hermione's eyes were stinging from the insult, but this time she held back her tears. She would not allow Malfoy the pleasure of seeing her cry again.

Weasley's ears turned red, and face grew even angrier than before. "Yeah, well, there's no need to ask who you are either, Malfoy. Everyone knows about your family of Death Eaters."

This time the gasps were louder, and Hermione felt herself go pale. She had only thought Malfoy was a stupid bigot; apparently that was only the least of her worries.

"Don't you speak of my family!" Malfoy growled, pulling out his wand, when suddenly a hand clasped down on his shoulder.

"Now, Draco… Let us not make a mockery of Slytherin House on the first day of class."

* * *

Harry and Blaise arrived at the potions classroom to a sight neither of them had expected, even in their wildest dreams. He froze for a moment, watching the stare down between Malfoy and a Gryffindor redhead, until he noticed Hermione's glistening eyes.

He did not get angry often. In fact, he could not remember the last time he had been truly angry. Sad, yes. Frustrated and annoyed, yes. Indignant, yes.

Angry, not so much.

Now, however, it did not take a genius to piece together what must have occurred only seconds before his arrival. To top it all off, his first friend was near tears, again, and he finally understood what must have happened on the train the day earlier.

Harry brushed past Blaise, taking the other boy by surprise, and almost violently shoved his way through a pug-faced girl and some other raven-haired Slytherin, who were standing together and inadvertently blocking his path.

He reached for Malfoy's shoulder, and yanked him around.

"Now, Draco… Let us not make a mockery of Slytherin House on the first day of class." he hissed, taking himself by surprise when his voice came out low yet clear, with a very dark undertone.

"Y- You!" Malfoy stuttered, flinching when he met Harry's unyielding gaze.

"Since you seem so fond of Weasley, perhaps you'd like a matching hair dye?"

Harry waved his hand over Malfoy's head, turning his hair into the same ginger-red color Ron Weasley and his siblings sported.

Along with apparition, what he now knew to be the color-changing charm was one of the three spells Harry had mastered with Dudley's help, before even finding out about Hogwarts. The third was not so much a spell, as it was his ability to change the length of his own hair at will.

The best part of it was that he could perform them all wandlessly, something which was supposedly difficult to achieve. He had based it off his own accidental magic, and wondered if that had something to do with his proficiency.

Unfortunately, he had never managed to reproduce his feat of invisibility.

The class broke out into laughter, and Malfoy's face reddened from embarrassment until there was barely any visible difference between the color of his skin and his hair.

"If I catch you harassing any other students, and I don't care which bloody house they're in, Weasley-colored hair will be nothing compared to what I'll do to you." Harry threatened, standing only inches away from a now shell-shocked Draco.

It was a bluff, of course. He did not know, nor know of, any spells that could inflict serious harm. However, he hoped that his wandless display would leave enough doubt in Malfoy's mind to keep him at bay.

The now ginger boy nodded frantically and hastily put as much space between himself and Harry as possible.

Harry sighed, feeling the rush of adrenaline leaving his body. He sat down in the empty seat next to Hermione, who looked at him with something alarmingly close to hero worship.

What was perhaps even worse, was that Weasley looked at him with the same expression.

"That was bloody brilliant, mate!" he exclaimed. "I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley. You seem alright for a snake."

Harry supposed that was a compliment.

"Thanks. You'd best find a seat, Ron. Class starts in less than a minute, and I've heard Snape isn't the most forgiving of teachers."

The Gryffindor's eyes widened at that and he scurried off to sit beside one of his friends.

"You okay, 'Mione?" he asked, trying out his new nickname for the girl.

"I- I am now." she answered, reaching over to give him a hug, which he happily returned. Both were completely oblivious to the numerous pairs of eyes boring into them from every angle.

"M- Mione?" she then questioned, and Harry smiled teasingly.

"You don't like it? Maybe Hermy fits you better."

She made a sound which he interpreted to convey an equal amount of embarrassment and horror.

"Mione's okay, thank you very much." she hurried to say.

"That's what I thought.", he began knowingly, before cutting himself off abruptly. "Oh. I think I can hear footsteps from outside. It's probably Snape. Quick, grab your stuff!"

Harry and Hermione just managed to get everything in order when the doors to the potions classroom were opened with a loud bang.

Snape strode inside, almost appearing to glide along the stone floor with his robes billowing behind him. He wondered if the professor used a spell to achieve that effect.

Harry decided there and then that he had a new role model for dramatic entrances, feeling slightly guilty about replacing Mister Goku but coming to the conclusion that he would understand.

"There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class."

Harry immediately knew potions would become one of his favorite subjects.


	9. Daphne Greengrass

"As such…" Snape said; his voice growing soft with promised suffering to those who were not paying attention.

"I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few…"

And that was when Professor Snape's carefully planned speech fell to shambles. His cold, black eyes had searched the classroom and eventually landed on Draco Malfoy, who was unsuccessfully trying to cover his red hair with his hands.

"Mister Malfoy!" Snape called; a dangerous glint in his eyes. "If this is your idea of a… _prank_ … I find myself most disappointed."

The boy spluttered, glancing at Harry, and was about to respond when he shot him what he hoped was a vicious glare. It seemed to work because Malfoy flinched and lowered his head in acceptance.

"Detention, Mister Malfoy. Tonight. Be glad I am not deducting any points for this shameful behavior. Rest assured that your father _will_ be made aware of this."

He felt Hermione squeeze his right thigh underneath the desk and only narrowly succeeded in holding back his chortles of mirth. Weasley, however, was not as fortunate and a loud guffaw escaped him.

Like a predator, Snape spun around and locked his gaze onto the rapidly paling redhead.

"Mister Weasley, I presume. I had hoped to be spared the misfortune of teaching another one of you… But apparently, some things truly are too good to be true."

Harry had to give the man credit, his savagery levels were off the chart.

"Since you deem it fit to interrupt me during class…" Snape continued, now stalking across the room until he came face to face with Weasley. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to share your knowledge with the rest of us."

"Tell me, Mister Weasley, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Weasley's face was turning red once more. "I don't know."

Meanwhile, Hermione's arm was lifted high into the air, waving around with such intensity that Harry was surprised she had not accidentally hit him yet.

He quickly yanked her arm back down, much to her annoyance.

"I'll explain later." he whispered under his breath in an attempt to placate her. Luckily, Snape did not hear him and continued his interrogation of the Gryffindor.

"No? How unfortunate. Perhaps you will be able to tell me where I could find a bezoar?" he asked.

Weasley shook his head.

"I'm beginning to see a trend, Mister Weasley. Tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Weasley was now completely red; whether it was from anger or embarrassment was impossible to tell.

"I don't know, okay?" he finally snapped. He seemed to realize what he had done because he immediately lost all color in his face.

Snape's lips twisted into a cruel sneer.

"Five points from Gryffindor for each unanswered question, Mister Weasley, and another five for your cheek." he hissed, and walked back to the front of the classroom.

"Now, perhaps there is someone among you, someone who has deigned to read first few pages of the course material in advance, who can answer these questions?"

Harry raised his hand, which prompted Hermione to do the same, only this time less excitedly. Snape's eyes met Harry's with an unidentifiable emotion lurking behind them.

"Ah, Mister Potter. Our… New… Slytherin."

He thought the professor had intended to say something else before quickly changing his mind.

"I did not expect you to be sorted into my house, given your… heritage. I suppose there is more of your mother inside you than one would believe at first glance."

Harry did not know what to make of that statement; it was almost contradictory. Had the professor known his mother?

"Very well, you may give your answer to the questions that Mister Weasley is so shamefully ignorant of."

Harry nodded.

"To the first question, that would be the Draught of Living Death, a potion which puts the drinker to sleep and can last indefinitely. As for a bezoar, it is a stone with healing properties formed within the stomach of a goat. Finally, there is no difference between monkshood and wolfsbane. They are two different names for the same plant."

He took a deep breath, having expended almost all of the air in his lungs in one go.

Snape blinked owlishly.

"Acceptable, Mister Potter. It pleases me to see that you are not tarnishing the reputation of Slytherin House. Five points for each correctly answered question, and another five for coming prepared to class."

"Thank you, sir." Harry answered, and broke eye contact with his strange professor. He saw a dejected Hermione taking notes as Snape continued detailing his instructions for the rest of the class.

He figured she was disappointed about not getting the chance to respond to any of the questions.

* * *

Hermione learned that Harry was the perfect partner for potions. Both complemented each other perfectly, with Hermione making sure they followed the instructions correctly, while Harry used his remarkable dexterity to cut and dice the ingredients and stir the potion with impeccable accuracy.

They had been told to brew a potion that cured boils, which according to Professor Snape would be simple as long as they followed the instructions and did not make any dunderheaded mistakes.

Harry and Hermione had reached the final stage of the potion, and all that remained was to wave a wand over the cauldron.

"You should do it." Harry told her. "I've been doing most of the manual stuff, so you've been missing out."

She nodded and pulled out her wand from the pocket inside her robes. Harry's warning about keeping it in her back pocket had stayed with her.

Hermione waved her wand, and the two of them cheered silently when the potion turned blue. Pink smoke was rising from the cauldron, which simmered peacefully over gentle flames.

"Well done, Mister Potter and Miss Granger. Twenty points to Slytherin for managing to brew a perfect potion on your first attempt." Snape's silky voice whispered from behind them.

Hermione jumped a little from the professor's unexpected interruption.

"Make sure to bottle it and leave it on my desk. I believe it will make a fine addition to Madam Pomfrey's storage in the hospital wing. You may leave once you are done."

It was only when they were halfway out the classroom that she realized Snape had only given points to Slytherin. She was about to turn around in indignation when she felt Harry's hand on her back, gently leading her outside.

"Don't bother, 'Mione." he told her once they were out of range of the Potions Master. "I think he has something against Gryffindors. You'd probably have lost points if you took issue with him."

Hermione was ready to explain everything wrong about that line of thought when screams echoed throughout the dungeons, followed by Snape's angry yells.

Harry shot her a blank look.

"I think Snape's going to have use of our potion earlier than expected.", he said, and she could not help but giggle at his deadpan expression.

* * *

"Sorry for ditching you like that earlier, Blaise." Harry apologized, shooting the taller boy a conciliatory look after he and Hermione had parted ways. He had stayed behind, waiting for the other boy to finish his brewing.

Blaise shrugged, as he usually did in response to almost everything.

"Don't think about it. Seeing what you did to Malfoy more than made up for it."

Harry grinned. "Oh, yeah! Can you believe he's already got detention?"

The two boys shared a laugh of morose delectation as they made their way back to the common room, and with a mutter of "Pureblood." they were let inside. Harry thought the password was rather distasteful.

Once inside, he was met with the iciest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen.

"Potter."

He gave the girl in front of him a once over, trying to recall her name. He had seen her get sorted directly after Hermione.

"Yes, er… Grassgreen?"

The girl narrowed her eyes and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something about her that put him on edge. From afar she looked like an average, albeit pretty girl, with porcelain skin and raven hair.

Once you got closer to her, you began to notice the oddities. Most prominent of which were her cold, blue eyes. Then came the unsettling manner in which her face switched effortlessly between a complete lack of emotion and poisonous malice.

"It's _Greengrass_. Daphne Greengrass." she corrected, in a deadly whisper. It was the kind of whisper that promised a slow and painful death if he did not heed her words, and sounded completely out of place coming from an eleven-year-old girl.

"Right, sorry." Harry hastily amended. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Greengrass?"

He ignored Blaise's scoff and underhanded mumble of 'whipped' in the background. When Greengrass shot him a ferocious glare, however, even he quickly fell silent.

"You elbowed me in potions today." she said, turning back to him. Harry thought back to when he pushed his way past two girls in his pursuit of Malfoy.

"Oh… Sorry." he said again, not knowing how else to placate the girl.

"Sorry won't cut it, Potter." she replied, and grasped the collar of his robes, yanking him towards her. Harry, caught by surprise, did not even attempt to react when the girl manhandled him.

"What will, then?" he asked, and she smirked evilly.

"I want you to teach me wandless magic."

A long stream of profanities which Harry had no right to know came to mind, and it was only through great effort on his part that they remained just there - in his mind. If he had known that his little show would cause him to get pestered by his housemates, he would have preferred to humiliate Malfoy in a different fashion.

"It's not easy." he said, hoping to discourage her, while keeping up his bluff and pretending that he actually had more knowledge to share than a couple of spells.

"Nothing worthwhile is."

Harry had to concede to that point, and sighed.

"Alright, Greengrass. But this will happen on my terms and _not_ yours."

* * *

"You didn't tell us you were friends with Harry Potter, Hermione!" Fay exclaimed as soon as the brunette caught sight of her in the common room.

"More than friends, from the look of it." Lavender added. "Oh, Merlin." she said, as though reality had finally hit her. "You're Harry Potter's girlfriend."

Hermione blushed and hid her face behind her Herbology book, stammering denials.

"I- I'm not! We're _eleven_." she implored, stressing their age as though it would actually mean anything to the obsessed girls.

Her life had taken a sudden turn following their double potions class. People who had previously not spared her a single glance would now meet her eyes and offer greetings. Some even attempted to talk to her; none more than her two roommates.

A part of her still resented them, knowing that it was only because of Harry that she suddenly garnered all of this attention. Hermione knew that they still did not see her, for _her_.

However, it was an improvement over being bullied or treated like she did not even exist, which had been the norm in her life ever since she was six years old.

"Oh, nonsense." Fay argued, sitting down next to her on the couch. "We all saw the way he looked at you… embracing you in front of us all. It was so romantic!"

The girl kept gushing, each word spilling out of her mouth threatening to make Hermione faint from embarrassment. Lavender giggled and occupied the empty space on her other side.

"Fay's right, you know… You're a lucky girl, snagging Harry Potter like that. And he can do wandless magic already… Oh, gosh…He's like the second coming of Merlin. Well, maybe the third, if you count Dumbledore."

Being expelled from Hogwarts had been one of Hermione's greatest fears, yet now it seemed almost desirable.

She shoved her face deeper into the pages of her book, ignoring the two girls in favor of reading about the Devil's Snare.


	10. Professor Potter

Harry Potter found himself standing opposite an expectant Daphne Greengrass, inside an empty classroom on the third floor. Harry had reminded her of Dumbledore's rather ominous warning during the start-of-term feast, to which the girl had just stared back at him with challenging eyes.

"It's not like we're actually in the forbidden corridor." she said, sneering at him.

"Well, Potter. Teach!" she then demanded, and Harry decided now was the time to begin countering her attitude. After all, there was no better way to get to know someone than by riling them up, and if he was going to waste time on her she had better provide something of equal value in return.

He wagged a finger in front of her face patronizingly.

"Hold on, Greengrass. I told you this would happen under my terms, didn't I?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she eventually nodded in agreement.

"Glad to see we're on the same page. Now, my first condition for our continued partnership is that you refer to me as 'Professor Potter' at all times."

"I'd rather die." she answered coldly, clearly not taking him seriously. Unfortunately for her, he was serious, although he would not object if she suddenly decided that pestering him was not worth the trouble anymore.

"Excellent!" Harry said happily, and began to walk towards the door. He was glad to have found such an easy way to get out of this strange deal.

"Wait!"

His palm had only brushed against the handle when she called out for him. He turned around; an eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Alright. I'll do it." she said. He could clearly see the annoyance written across her face, and cheered internally at already having broken down her mask.

"Just to make it clear…" Harry began. "I really do mean at all times. That means here, of course, but also in the common room, during lunch, in the hallways, with other people - _everywhere_."

Greengrass' lips pursed, and she seemed ready to protest before her ambition got the better of her.

"I see why the hat placed you in Slytherin, Professor Potter."

Really, Harry was only having a bit of fun. But if she chose to see it as cunning or whatnot, who was he to disagree? He struggled not to laugh at the title and put on his best 'professor face', striding around the classroom in what he hoped to be a manner reminiscent of Snape.

"Miss Greengrass. You have chosen to learn the most obscure and complex of arcane arts… Wandless magic."

Harry paused dramatically in front of her, ignoring the sarcastic rolling of her eyes.

"As such, I do not expect you to have fully grasped the extent of the journey you are embarking on… Nor do I believe you have an understanding of what it takes to succeed."

At that, he was taken aback by the sheer intensity in her eyes. Harry was almost fascinated by the icy blue orbs, which now shone brightly with steadily growing determination.

"However," he continued, staring back deeply into her eyes. "For those select few… who possess, the _predisposition_ …"

He straightened himself, trying to appear as tall and imposing as was physically possible for a boy of his age, and pulled his robes tightly around his body.

"I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can show you the path to unfathomable power, at the tips of your fingers… The very essence of magic itself…"

Harry wondered if it was his imagination, or if Greengrass actually edged closer to him. It was difficult to tell, with the way her eyes seemed to pull everything toward her, including him.

"Please do, Professor Potter.", she whispered.

* * *

At first, Daphne considered the pleasure she would feel from smacking Potter in his smug jaw, comparing it to the benefit of learning wandless magic. Eventually she came to the conclusion that the latter was worth more to her. Of course, nothing prevented her from smacking Potter in his smug jaw after he had taught her everything he had to offer.

And so, she decided to play along with his silly game until he was of no further use to her. It still astounded her, however, that Harry Potter, the supposed beacon of light, was a Slytherin. Not only in name, but also in mind.

Aside from herself, Daphne reluctantly admitted that Potter was probably the most Slytherin person in the castle, upper years included. He had even managed to momentarily break her carefully constructed mask; something she would have allowed no one else to get away with.

Daphne knew she was ruled by a single ambition – to be the best. She would rise above all and become the greatest witch to ever set foot on the face of the Earth. She would undo the curse that had plagued her family for centuries, and make sure that her little sister would be able to live the life that she deserved.

That, she swore to accomplish. It was her ambition, her goal, and she would fulfill it through any means. Even if it happened to require her to momentarily cast away her pride.

When 'Professor Potter' began his little introductory speech, she had rolled her eyes at his – admittedly rather accurate – impression of Snape. It was only that, though, an impression. Nothing he said held any actual value. At least, that was what Daphne had thought. When he then dared to challenge her ambition, she had glared fiercely at him in return. No one had the right to look down on her.

She thought he recognized her determination, because the boy went on to explain all that he could share with her. It was then that she grew uncertain; he spoke with such conviction and passion in that moment, that she could honestly not tell if it was merely a part of his act or the actual truth.

After all, everyone knew that Harry Potter was special. How else could he have defeated the most powerful Dark Lord in over a millennium as a mere baby?

Everyone knew that Harry Potter had received special training; that he had been raised in secret and taught forbidden magics to reach his full potential.

 _Everyone_ knew that Harry Potter was different, separate from them, who were all but mere mortals. He was supposed to be Merlin reborn, destined to mold the world in his image.

Once he finished his speech, Daphne found herself leaning closer in wonder, more excited about the prospect of learning wandless magic than ever.

He made an offer, and she readily accepted it.

"Please do, Professor Potter."

* * *

"Alright, whatever." Harry said, nonchalantly waving his hand and grabbing two chairs from the stack along one of the walls.

He dragged them back over to where Greengrass was standing, still looking like she was under some sort of trance. Harry snapped his fingers in front of her face a couple of times, until she finally caught up with reality.

"Have a seat." he said, pointing to one of the chairs. She sat down, and he did the same.

"So, when I first started off doing wandless magic, it was all based on my accidental magic. Simple things like the color-changing charm you saw me do in potions, to more difficult stuff like apparition."

He made sure to leave gaps large enough that Greengrass would undoubtedly fill them out with plenty of incorrect assumptions.

"You… can apparate?" she asked with wide eyes.

"Yeah." he confirmed, shrugging indifferently. "First time happened by accident when I was six."

Her eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head, something Harry found increasingly hilarious.

"Anyway, do you remember what kind of accidental magic you've done?"

Greengrass gained a thoughtful expression, and her face scrunched in concentration. "I do remember one time. It was during winter and I was at home, in the manor, when my mother wouldn't let me play outside. She said it was too icy and slippery, and that I could fall and get hurt."

Harry nodded and silently encouraged her to go on.

"The ice was the reason I wanted to play outside. I'd seen other children sliding on it while at a Yule fair. I- I got mad when mother didn't budge, and froze over the entire hallway floor."

Was that a blush on her cheeks? Harry listened to the end of her story with amusement, and could not help but laugh. It just fit Daphne Greengrass so perfectly.

"Don't laugh at me, Professor. It's unbecoming of a member of the staff."

He only laughed harder at that.

"Alright." he said, the word being punctuated by a quick snort. "In any case, I think we've found a good place to start."

She looked at him inquiringly.

"Ice, of course. You seem to have an… affinity for it." he explained, and then chortled again.

"This will be your homework, Miss Greengrass. I want a three-foot parchment on the details of ice; its composition, how it feels, how you felt while freezing over your manor, and so on and so forth. Anything and everything regarding ice is to be included, no matter how trivial you may find it to be. Your assignment is due next Monday, and yes, that means you'll have to work over the weekend."

"Yes, Professor Potter.", Greengrass responded dutifully.

Harry found he quite enjoyed assuming the role of a professor. Maybe he would pursue a career in academics.

"Good. Now let's go get some lunch. I'm starving."

* * *

Daphne could hardly believe Potter had actually given her homework. The impudence of the boy was enough to grate her nerves.

At least he appeared to know what he was doing.

The power of ice was very tempting to her. She imagined what it would be like to freeze Potter in his tracks, beginning with his feet and working her way up his body until he begged for mercy. She doubted he would dare assign her any homework if he were frozen into a solid block of ice.

"Greengrass, stop daydreaming about assaulting me."

Daphne jumped at his words, adding mind reading to his list of possible powers.

"No. You're just really similar to another witch I know when you don't bother hiding your emotions. Very easy to read."

In a rare moment of horror, Daphne realized she had completely forgotten about her mask. Potter was already getting to her, and this way her carefully constructed plan of creating a reputation as Slytherin's unapproachable queen would come crashing down. She quickly settled her face into its regular expression of apathy, with only a tinge of superiority shining through. It would not do to have the rabble think they could be _sociable_ with her.

That would only distract her from her goal.

Potter pouted disappointedly from beside her as they turned a corner around the end of one of the third floor corridors, waiting for the staircase to spin and dock at their feet.

"It's no fun when you do that, Greengrass. Actually, scratch that. I'm getting tired of calling you by your last name. Henceforth, you shall be known as Darth… Glacia."

Daphne wondered what he was on about. Glacia was not too bad of a nickname, even if she would refuse to acknowledge it out of principle. With her rudimentary understanding of Latin, she figured it had something to do with ice.

"Hey, Glacia, as your next assignment from your awesome and talented professor, you're going to sit with me at the Gryffindor table for lunch today."

Which each step she took, Daphne could feel her plans crumbling to dust. At this point, she considered if the end goal was truly worth the sacrifice of having to endure Harry Potter for seven years. It was the first time she felt genuinely conflicted.

So conflicted, in fact, that she did not even register Potter's arm reaching around her own and leading her through the Great Hall and over to the Gryffindor table. She did, however, notice when he began piling a random assortment of foods onto two different plates and placed one of them in front of her.

"Mione, meet my newly dubbed Sith Apprentice, Darth Glacia. Glacia, this is Hermione, my friend in Gryffindor."

Daphne then also noticed she was sitting between Harry and a rather flustered Gryffindor girl with thick, bushy hair.

"Oh, right! I almost forgot…" Harry said, while stuffing a whole potato into his mouth.

"Bon appétit!"


	11. The Forbidden Corridor

A.N. Just a short little heads up. All chapters from now on will be released twice a week, on Wednesdays and Sundays, hopefully with as few exceptions as possible. I hope you're enjoying the story, and please keep leaving reviews! They're very helpful and motivational!

* * *

Leaving people guessing had become something of a hobby for Harry. He figured it was the ultimate Slytherin way of pranking people. After all, no snake would be caught dead aiding Fred and George Weasley, which left only other, subtler ways of messing with people's minds available.

To top it all off, no one would ever accuse Harry Potter, the boy who earned his house forty points during his first class, of playing mischievous mind games.

His target for the last couple of days had been Daphne Greengrass, and to a somewhat lesser extent, Draco Malfoy. Harry was still curious about the boy, and was happy to see that their confrontation had resulted in Malfoy toning down on his need to antagonize Gryffindors and muggleborns.

It was rather amusing to see Malfoy biting back his insults and turning even paler whenever they happened to be in the same room.

Harry just could not understand him. If he felt others were beneath them, why waste his time provoking them? His words seemed forced, as though he were trying to convince himself as much as those around him.

"Good morning, Draco!" Harry greeted happily, sitting down next to the once-again blond boy at the Slytherin table. It was early Sunday morning, and everyone except Daphne were free to spend their time as they wished.

She, of course, had homework to do and would undoubtedly find herself busy in the library for the duration of the day.

Malfoy jerked slightly, but quickly masked his surprise and attempted a sneer while inching away from Harry as far as he could.

"Potter."

"Say, Draco…" Harry began, while buttering a slice of toast. "I've been thinking about something lately."

"You see…" he continued, giving him no chance to interject. "If you go far enough back in time, every family of witches and wizards must have begun with a muggleborn, don't you think?"

Malfoy looked like he had swallowed something particularly sour.

"I mean, it's not like Pure-bloods have been Pure-bloods forever, right? No, that would be impossible and makes no sense at all."

"What do you want, Potter?" Malfoy spat.

"Is it worth it? Whatever you're doing… I can't tell exactly what goes on in that head of yours, but you're not being yourself."

Harry finished his toast, swallowing down the last bite with some pumpkin juice. He realized he did not like pumpkin juice all that much, and wondered if he should attempt to introduce orange juice to Hogwarts instead.

"Bye, Draco. See you in the common room."

With that, Harry left a stock-still Draco Malfoy, who was hopefully contemplating the meaning of life, the universe and everything.

* * *

"Sup, Greengrass? I mean, Daph'. I mean, Glacia."

She did not even spare Harry a single glance. He saw her scribbling furiously on a large piece of parchment; several open books spread out on the desk in front of her.

"Ah, Sundays…" breathed Harry, sighing in exaggerated happiness. "Best day of the week. No classes, no homework… only pure relaxation."

It would have gone unnoticed to almost anyone else, but he caught the slight tensing of Daphne's fingers around her quill, and the ever so small twitch of her eye.

"It really is too bad some people just can't help but put off their work 'til the very end.", he drawled, lifting his chin imperiously. "I, personally, prefer completing my homework early, so that I can spend my weekends however I wish."

Harry made sure to draw out every personal pronoun in the most self-righteous way he could.

A loud snap echoed throughout the library, and he noticed Daphne's quill had broken in two within her now tightly clenched hand.

"I think I hate you, _Professor_." the raven-haired girl hissed; her venomous tone cutting through air as easily as a hot knife through butter.

"Excuse me? How dare you, young lady!"

It was not Harry who had spoken, but rather Librarian Irma Pince, who was investigating the source of the loud snap that had broken her treasured silence. Unfortunately, she had arrived just in time to hear Daphne's spiteful remark, and must have thought the girl was referring to her.

The Librarian was a middle-aged witch with a face that looked almost as strict as McGonagall's. Her hair was tied up underneath her pointy hat, and her red lips trembled with restrained anger. She looked ready to throw the Slytherin girl out of the library.

"Please, Madam!" Harry quickly interrupted, making sure he projected proper amounts of humility and pleading.

"My friend… She's been rather tense over the last few days. Not everyone settles in easily at a boarding school, after all."

He lowered his voice to a hushed whisper, as though he were telling a secret. "Homesickness, you know, and it's affecting her schoolwork as well. Really, it's only this wonderful library of yours that has kept Daphne here at Hogwarts at all."

"If not for her, Madam, could you at least consider forgiving her for my sake? It would break my heart if she ended up leaving us over a little misunderstanding. Please?"

Madam Pince's eyes softened considerably when she heard Harry's story, and she graced him with a tiny smile. He figured it also had a lot to do with him praising her library.

"Oh… Alright then." she conceded, before fixing Daphne with a glare. "You're lucky to have such a thoughtful and considerate friend. Had this happened any other time, I would've banned you from my library for the rest of the year!"

Pince turned back to Harry with an expression bordering on fondness, and he struggled not to look smug. "Ten points to Slytherin, Mister Potter, for compassion and solidarity."

* * *

Daphne was currently contemplating the best way to brutally murder Harry Potter. A number of ideas came to mind, such as pushing him off the top of the astronomy tower, leading him to a cluster of acromantula or simply through good old-fashioned strangulation.

The boy was absolutely insufferable, and she hated him beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Following the incident, she had immediately left the library to find some space where she could let out her frustration. Of course, Potter, being Potter, stalked after her as though glued to her hip. He had been following her around for the entire day, and it was now nearing curfew.

"Now, Glacia, is this any way to treat your Savior, Professor and Library Unbanner?" he asked.

She could hear the capital letters in all three of those ridiculous titles and scoffed. Daphne suddenly broke into a sprint, hoping to outrun Potter and have the magical staircase move away before he had time to catch up.

It did not work. He was annoyingly quick on his feet, and had even quicker reactions.

"Oooh…" Harry teased, in a ridiculous attempt at sounding spooky. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you're trying to get us expelled! I mean, first you insult poor Madam Pince, and now you're back on the third floor for the second time! You're worse than me!"

Daphne felt like tearing out chunks of her hair, and furiously stomped her way down the charms corridor when she had a stroke of genius. She stopped in her tracks, and looked at Potter with a coy smile.

"Harry…" she said, taking hold of his hand and gently rubbing circles along its back. Daphne was elated to see the unflappable boy now opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

"Would you like to go on an adventure?"

He nodded dumbly, looking down at their clasped hands. She smirked and dragged the boy down the hallway, where they found a locked wooden door.

"Alohomora." she whispered, pointing her wand at the door and rejoicing internally when it swung open. She and only read about the unlocking spell; not having any opportunity to attempt it until now.

Harry seemed to realize what they were doing and shot her a wide-eyed look of astonishment.

"Daphne!" he hissed, in a rare use of her first name. "This is the forbidden corridor!"

Yes, it was. She had finally figured out a way to brutally murder Harry Potter. Or just send him to the hospital wing. Dumbledore was an eccentric old man that probably thought it would be funny to threaten his students with a painful death.

There was no way the Headmaster would actually store something that dangerous in a school – that would be insane.

She would lead him inside, and then catch him by surprise with a hex to his back. Of course, Daphne would then sneak out and leave no one the wiser. It would be Potter's fault, really, for blatantly ignoring Dumbledore's warning.

The two first year Slytherins slowly stepped inside the dark corridor. Only a very small amount of light shone through the dirty windows, illuminating the many particles of dust that floated around in the air.

Daphne stealthily began to slow her pace, falling slightly behind Potter. She kept her hand locked with his, however, and he did not seem to notice anything.

With her wand still firmly grasped in her other hand, she silently raised it to his back. She considered several appropriate spells to use, eventually settling for the Curse of the Bogies they had studied during their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"Mucus A- " she began, when a loud rumble shook the entire hallway.

"BLOODY HELL!" shouted Potter, and Daphne instinctively looked over his shoulder to see what had warranted such an exclamation.

She screamed.

* * *

Harry, still holding onto Daphne's hand – only now for dear life – turned around and hightailed his way back out of the corridor.

Out of everything he expected to find at Hogwarts, a vicious, drooling and snarling three-headed dog was not one of them. The beast towered over him; reaching heights of at least ten feet.

He did not dare look back; the deadly growls and scratching sound of nails against stone already horrible enough. With a yank, he shoved Daphne out into the charms corridor and desperately fumbled after his wand.

"Colloportus!" he yelled, remembering the spell that he and Hermione had practiced during the train ride to the school. One of the monstrous dog's three heads was already sticking out over the threshold when the door sealed itself shut, hitting it on the muzzle with a smack.

Harry leaned against the wall, panting heavily. "Never… Again… Adventure… You…" he wheezed, gasping for air between each word.

His fellow housemate lay on the floor, having fallen from his impromptu push. She was whiter than a ghost; her fear-stricken face showing more emotion than he had ever seen.

"I- I didn't… Oh, Merlin… I'm so, so sorry!" she blurted suddenly.

He looked at her oddly. "What?" he said; his breathing returning to a steadier pace. "It's not your fault, Daphne. How could you possibly know there was a three-headed dog inside there?"

Having already had first-hand experience with emotional girls, Harry could notice the signs of an imminent breakdown and reached down to help Daphne to her feet. He was not keen of having a repeat of the 'Hermione incident'.

"Let's just… er… stay away from this part of the castle, yeah?" he offered. She nodded weakly, and they headed down the other way of the charms corridor while leaning on each other for support. Harry realized it was past curfew, as several portraits hissed angrily at them when they passed.

"Would you quit making all that noise?"

"Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

"Sorry." he muttered, and quickly made for the dungeons. Harry shuddered to think what would happen if the snarky caretaker had come upon them in the middle of the night. Some of the older students had shared horror stories about how he would threaten to string any rulebreaking students up by the thumbs.

The duo did not even make it to their quarters that night, instead remaining huddled together on one of the common room's large armchairs. They did not sleep particularly well; haunted by thoughts of the nightmare fuel that was a hungry cerberus.


	12. The Transfiguration Mistress

When Harry and Daphne awoke early Monday morning, they found themselves in a very compromising position.

"You sure move fast, don't you, Potter? That Gryffindor cub of yours will be heartbroken!"

Fortunately for everyone present, Daphne was still groggy and did not register the comment. Unfortunately, her grogginess also had her unwittingly snuggle closer against what she thought was her pillow – namely Harry – twisting and turning to find a more comfortable position against his side.

He carefully extracted himself from the exponentially growing vice grip, ignoring her sounds of discontent, and rubbed his eyes as he got up to face the small crowd that had assembled in the common room. Gemma Farley stood opposite him with a wicked grin on her face, along with some other upper-years he did not recognize.

Harry also saw Blaise, who looked at him amusedly, as well as some of the Slytherin first-years. At least Malfoy was not in sight, and he thanked the gods for that small mercy.

He made sure fix Gemma with his most deadly glare. "I swear, if I hear rumors about this I'll do everything I can to make your last two years here a living hell."

"That goes for the rest of you too." he added, making sure to stare down each and every one of them.

Daphne suddenly stirred, stretching her limbs in a catlike manner before nimbly rolling out of the armchair.

"Harry?" she mumbled, while brushing stray strands of hair out of her face and tucking them behind her ears. She still did not seem to have noticed exactly where she was, or all the people around her.

"I think…" she started; pausing momentarily due to a long yawn. "…that we need to talk about last night."

Harry was suddenly overcome with an intense urge to commit suicide.

* * *

Harry and Blaise once again found themselves walking together to class; this time for Transfiguration. It was one of Harry's most anticipated classes for two main reasons.

The magic itself sounded brilliant, of course, but he was also looking forward to it because it was taught by Professor McGonagall.

Hermione had told him that their first lesson in the subject had been amazing, but she refused to give away any more details. It would spoil the surprise, she had said.

He had been thoroughly disappointed by Defense Against the Dark Arts with Quirrell, which the Slytherins had on Fridays following their Potions class. The only thing Harry had learned from the stuttering man was that his scar stung every time the professor turned to write something on the whiteboard.

He made sure to tell Hermione how just how lucky the Gryffindors were to have Transfiguration during that period, instead of Defense.

"Greengrass is avoiding you like the plague, you know that, right?" Blaise said as they headed for the Transfiguration department.

It was true – once Daphne had come to her senses and realized exactly what she had said, and what everyone had seen, the girl had run off somewhere for a good half-an-hour. When she eventually joined the rest of the Slytherins for breakfast, she refused to so much as look in Harry's direction.

"So… are you going to tell me what this is all about?" the dark-skinned boy continued, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"No."

They kept walking, crossing the Middle Courtyard and briefly covering their eyes when they were assaulted by the morning sun.

"Argh! I'd almost forgotten about natural light after three days inside the castle." he grunted, hastening his pace as he walked over the lush grass covering most of the courtyard's open area.

It did not take long for two boys to reach the classroom from there, and Harry read '1B' on a sign next to the open door.

"Well, we're here." Blaise supplied. "Hey, look, there's an inscription on that sign!"

Harry squinted his eyes, trying to make out the faded text, and read it out loud. "Transfiguration Classroom. Treat inanimate objects respectfully. They may be your classmates."

Both he and Blaise swallowed nervously at that, wondering just exactly what sort of magic they would be practicing.

The classroom itself was large, with high ceilings and numerous lancet windows. The walls were decorated intricately, much like the rest of the castle, and several desks were spread out evenly across the room.

At the front, on slightly elevated part of the floor, stood two chalkboards and a single desk. What surprised Harry the most, was that upon that desk, sat a small tabby cat. It was eyeing the two students curiously with its large eyes, which had an odd square patterning around them.

"Aw. Blaise, look at that, it's a cute little kitty." Harry cooed. He had always had a soft spot for cats, although he did not quite understand why. When he was younger, he remembered dreaming about snuggling against what could only have been a cat; its fluffy fur tickling and warming him at the same time.

He walked up to the cat, while Blaise found a bench he liked and sat down, beginning to sort through his books and quills. Harry noticed the cat's eyes growing larger and larger as he neared it, and once he gently placed his hand against its back in a light pet, it straightened up and a shudder passed through its entire body.

"Hey, kitty, it's okay…" Harry whispered soothingly. "I'm not going to hurt you, see?" he said, and lightly stroked it along the spine until it relaxed and began to purr.

"Harry, remember the inscription outside. That might be some student you're petting." Blaise remarked from down the room.

He snickered and rubbed the cat behind its ears. "It said 'inanimate' objects. This cat is quite clearly animate. So, unless there's some magic that turns people into animals, I think I'll keep petting it."

Blaise shrugged.

* * *

Once it neared time for class to start, the rest of the Slytherins began piling in. Harry now sat down on the chair behind the teacher's desk, with the tabby cat now firmly placed in his lap. It had struggled for a while, until eventually succumbing to his ministrations and seemingly falling asleep.

He received some odd looks from his housemates, but no one commented on his actions. Blaise rolled his eyes, jabbing a thumb at the clock hanging high up on the wall behind him. He frowned – the class should already have begun. Had something happened to Professor McGonagall?

Harry got up from the chair, still carrying the cat in his arms, and looked around. McGonagall was nowhere in sight, and he also noticed Daphne had yet to arrive. He sat down next to Blaise; his concern growing with each minute that the professor did not show up.

"Do you think something happened to McGonagall?" he whispered. "She's at least fifteen minutes late by now."

At that, the cat suddenly hissed and leapt out of his lap. Harry was ready to faint when it transformed in mid-air, turning into the previously absent professor.

A professor who was now sporting an intense blush, which under other circumstances would have been rather entertaining to witness. Unfortunately, the witch was just as red from embarrassment as she was from anger.

Anger directed at him.

"Mister Potter." she spoke, with unnerving calm. "You will serve detention with me every evening for the remainder of this week."

Harry did not protest. He did not even want to protest. What he truly wanted, was to spend the rest of his life in isolation under a rock. He decided never to ignore Blaise's warnings ever again.

The class did not dare laugh as the red-faced professor turned around and walked to the far end of the room. In a flash, she raised her wand and waved it over her desk. Before their very eyes, the desk morphed and took the shape of a pig. Another wave and it turned back into a desk.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone caught messing around in my class will leave and _not come back."_

McGonagall then conjured a piece of chalk and wrote down a mathematical equation on one of the whiteboards. Harry shared a confused glance with Blaise and saw that most of the other Slytherins were mirroring his expression.

"Most of you are no doubt wondering what an arithmetic formula has to do with Transfiguration." the professor said, in answer to everyone's questioning glances.

"You see, as it so happens, Transfiguration is such a complex branch of magic because of its underlying arithmancy. A successful transfiguration will always depend on five variables."

She tapped the chalk against the board, pointing at the first variable named _'a'_.

"This represents avoirdupois, which is French for weight. The heavier an object, or rather, the greater the object's mass, the more difficult the Transfiguration. Other factors include the object's viciousness – that is its level of animation – wand power and concentration."

Harry raised his hand.

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

He noticed that McGonagall did not quite meet his gaze.

"Professor, those were only four out of the five variables in the formula. What does _'z'_ stand for?"

She smiled thinly. "That, I'm afraid, is something we've yet to discover. However, all arithmancers are in accord that there must be a fifth, unknown variable involved."

He hurried to jot down that particular piece of information. If anything, it would be an interesting little side project to research in his spare time, and if he knew Hermione, she would probably love to help him with it.

The door to the classroom suddenly creaked, slowly swinging open to reveal an abnormally timid Daphne Greengrass. She looked away when the entire class turned their collective heads to look at her, and quickly moved to find an empty seat.

"How good of you to join us, Miss…?"

"Greengrass." Daphne responded quietly, hesitantly facing McGonagall's rigorous scrutiny.

"And pray tell, Miss Greengrass, what brings you here half-an-hour late?"

"I lost track of time." she mumbled, and Harry could instantly tell that she was lying. Luckily, McGonagall seemed to accept the excuse.

"I see. Perhaps I ought to transfigure you into a pocket watch, then, lest you be tardy to future classes as well?"

Daphne shook her head and began unpacking her things in silence, while the professor resumed her introduction.

"Contrary to most other branches of magic, Transfiguration does not rely on wand movements. Any unnecessary wiggling and twirling will only obstruct your endeavors. Now, I shall oversee your very first Transfiguration."

Harry felt his excitement building when McGonagall made a swishing motion with her wand, conjuring a small matchstick for each student.

"You will attempt to transfigure your matchstick into a needle. The incantation is _'Acufors'_ and only a light tap of your wand against the matchstick will suffice. Recall the formula. You may begin."

Harry had always considered himself decent at mathematics. It had been his favorite subject throughout primary and middle school, and was according to McGonagall the official reason he had been accepted into an 'exclusive Scottish boarding school' as far as the muggles were concerned.

That was why he understood the fundamental beauty of Transfiguration and its formula. You did not necessarily need great magical power, as long as you possessed the capacity to concentrate. If you were still unsuccessful, you could simply find an object of lesser mass or animation.

In one way or another, Transfiguration would be accessible to anyone who applied themselves properly. Anyone could be a practitioner, but few could become masters.

Harry considered his situation. He was eleven years old and therefore not likely to be magically powerful. The matchstick was a light object, with low mass and considered inanimate.

What he needed to do was concentrate. A particular passage in _'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration'_ stated the importance of visualizing a mental picture of the object he intended to create, and so Harry vividly imagined a shiny, pointy and silvery needle in place of his matchstick.

He tapped his wand lightly against the matchstick. "Acufors."

The change happened slowly, and he struggled to maintain his concentration for the duration of the process.

At first, the ends of the matchstick slowly thinned out, forming sharp points. Then, it brightened; the previously dark brown color shifting into a passable silver. Finally, a small loop appeared on one end of the newly formed needle.

"Yes!" he exclaimed happily, now lifting his needle and turning it over in the palm of his hand. Blaise sighed from beside him.

"Why did I know you'd be the first to get it right?" he muttered, poking solemnly at his own matchstick with the tip of his wand. It caught fire, and Blaise hurried to put it out with the sleeve of his robes.

Professor McGonagall had turned around at his exclamation, briefly abandoning the student she had been helping in order to gauge his success for herself.

"Astounding, Mister Potter." she said, while inspecting his needle. "It seems you've inherited your father's talent for Transfiguration."

Harry had not known that particular piece of information and smiled gratefully at his professor.

"A point to Slytherin for your near-perfect needle. You may now either attempt to transfigure it back into a matchstick or read ahead in the course literature."

It once again became painstakingly obvious why she had only awarded him a single point, and Harry hid behind his book.

* * *

Many hundreds of miles from Hogwarts, for the first time since their conception, the Dementors of Azkaban felt fear.

They were dying.


	13. Light of Justice

Black could not forsake his duty. Ever since meeting Harry, he knew he had been postponing the inevitable. No matter how pure of heart the boy had proven to be, the mortal scum surrounding him would need to be purged.

Not everyone, of course, as that would render his experiment worthless. He would only hunt the worst of the worst – those that made even his cold heart beat with righteous fury. He would do Earth a great service, ridding it of murderers and all other sinners beyond redemption.

There could only be one price for those who would use their God-given intelligence and magic with evil intent. Black had already inadvertently set his crusade into motion with the execution of Amycus Carrow, so what would a few more lives matter?

The names were all in his mind. The remaining Carrow. Lestrange. Nott. Avery. Yaxley. Malfoy. Many more.

He would find them. Make them suffer as they had so many others, until they begged for death.

Black had decided this only moments after seeing Harry off on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. There was no point in further delaying his work. One way or another, it would eventually come to pass. It was only a matter of time before this world faced his judgment.

He would begin with the magicals, and the perfect place quickly came to mind.

* * *

Azkaban was home to the very worst kind of criminals. It was a cold, damp and dark place where not even a shred of happiness could be found. It was a place which drove even the most cruel and heartless people to insanity, leaving them as nothing but empty husks; shells of their former selves.

The Dementors saw to that.

Bellatrix Lestrange knew she had long since lost any trace of sanity left within her. She did not care. She had faith in her Master. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would return. That he would come for his most faithful servant and reward her for her unwavering loyalty.

Every time the Dementors came to feed her, reaching inside her cell and handing her some muddy water along with a slice of moldy bread, she would take it from their rotting hands with something akin to affection.

She liked them. They were the magnificent dark creatures which allowed her to view the world with a clarity that had previously eluded her. They had sucked away any and all shreds of humanity left inside her, replacing it with images of that which she feared the most.

The Dark Lord.

Bellatrix feared him almost as much as she loved him, and that had allowed the Dementors to unknowingly twist and warp her mind, honing it into the sharpest of blades. She only thought of one thing, she could only think of one thing, and it was that which allowed her to cling to life.

As long as she had her Master, she would never die. She would never lose her magic. She would never lose her soul, foul and abhorrent though it may be.

That was why, when she felt the very walls of Azkaban shaking, she broke into uncontrollable laughter. He had returned. He would set her free. The screams were like music to her ears - she knew the Dark Lord would only come for her. The others meant nothing.

 _He_ only needed _her_.

Bellatrix giggled madly at a particularly loud wail, imagining how her Master must be torturing the poor fools who stood between him and her. It would not be long now, she knew. She heard footsteps approaching, and hurried to kneel behind the bars of her cell.

"Bellatrix Lestrange." spoke a cold, high voice. An odd feeling tickled in the back of her fragile mind, but she paid it no heed.

"My Lord!" she rasped; her vocal chords searing with pain from disuse. "I knew you would come… I always knew!"

Two hands suddenly gripped hold of the enchanted metal bars separating her from her freedom, and _pulled_.

It should have been impossible, but she knew the Dark Lord had always been able to accomplish impossible things. The bars grated and creaked, bending apart from sheer force of pressure. Bellatrix immediately leaned forward, pressing her lips to her Master's boots.

"You dare…?" he hissed, and she reared back as though he had physically struck her. "You dare touch me, you filthy mortal?"

Tears brimmed in her eyes, his words hurting her more than a Cruciatus ever could. She hesitantly gazed upward, following her Master's white boots and up his darkly clad legs. Bellatrix caught a flash of red before she was forcibly grasped by her thin throat and yanked into the air.

The Dark Lord's most loyal Death Eater then came face to face with a man who was decidedly _not_ her Master. Rage filled her entire being, clouding her vision and tinting her already insane eyes with new layer of hatred.

She would have screamed, bit and snarled; spitting venomous words at the imposter. Only the fact that his strong hand was clenching ever tighter around her neck, pressing and squeezing until Bellatrix could hear her own bones snap, kept her silent and powerless.

The man eventually let her go, and she dropped to the hard floor in a state of near unconsciousness; pain being the only thing keeping her aware. She barely registered the imposter's wicked and inhuman laughter, which echoed against the walls of her cell and seemed to go on forever, growing louder and louder with each second.

"He will kill you!" she spat weakly, even as she crawled away from the laughing man.

"Oh, Bella…." he began, and her heart ached from the familiar appellation. That was what the Dark Lord would call her.

"Your pathetic leader is dead; did you not know? Vanquished by a mere baby! And even if he somehow found a way to return from the depths of hell, I would crush him under my heel without a second thought."

Bellatrix roared in anger, summoning strength from reserves she did not know existed. "NO! HE WILL RETURN! HE WILL KILL YOU!" she screamed, launching herself at the chuckling pretender with the intent to claw his face out.

Before she could even get her hands on him, he flicked her in the forehead and sent her painfully crashing into the back of the cell. A loud, sickening crunch signaled the collision between the wall and the back of her head, and the bliss of oblivion finally claimed her.

* * *

Black studied the unconscious and dying prisoner lying on the floor in front of him. He knew who she was.

Bellatrix Lestrange neé Black. Cousin to Sirius Black, a man who until recently had been residing in a cell not to far away. He knew from Carrow's memories that Sirius was innocent, and therefore spared him. Voldemort, at the height of his hubris, had made sure to brag about acquiring the service of Peter Pettigrew – one of the Potters' trusted friends.

He would not deprive Harry of his Godfather.

As for Bellatrix, she was completely and utterly insane. He had never witnessed a mind so touched by insanity. It was almost fascinating. In a twist of irony, he supposed that her madness had blessed her with a single, redeemable quality.

The virtue of devotion.

He imagined the things he could accomplish with a servant of her mindset. Someone who would obey his every command without hesitation. It would almost be as good as having himself as an accomplice.

Black's eyes widened. He could use the Time Ring to travel back in time and save another version of himself, Zamasu, from a different timeline. Although, it sounded rather tedious, and if he came into conflict with the other Zamasu, for whatever reason, he would have a powerful enemy standing against him.

With that, he decided that any future allies would have to be significantly beneath him in terms of power.

However, there was a much more pressing issue at hand. What would he do with Bellatrix? Would he kill her, like he had every other prisoner inside the fortress? Or would he bring her with him and dissect her wonderfully broken brain?

A sudden coldness enveloped him, briefly catching him by surprise before he flared his aura and shrugged it off. Those despicable creatures – the Dementors – were nearing him again.

Black picked up the prone form of Bellatrix Lestrange, unceremoniously throwing her over his shoulder without bothering about her injuries. Stepping outside of the cell and back into the narrow hallways of Fort Azkaban, he could spy several Dementors gliding toward him.

His face twisted in disgust, and he raised his hand, sending a wide beam of dark-yellow energy at the creatures. The light enveloped them; a terrible screech leaving the orifice that served as their soulsucking device. He did not deign to call it a mouth.

It pleased Black to see the Dementors disintegrate under his superior power, and he nodded in satisfaction, content with the work he had carried out.

* * *

Auror Williamson was one of the handful of Aurors stationed at the hellish prison that was Azkaban. For the first time in his life, his proficiency with magic had been the reason behind his misfortune, as he was one of the few able to produce a fully corporeal Patronus.

It had become Ministry standard to ship off Aurors capable of producing and sustaining Patronuses to Azkaban, where they would oversee the Dementors and make sure that nothing out of the ordinary occurred.

At least, that was the official statement.

Williamson was a modest man, but he did not understate his worth. He knew he was both powerful and intelligent. This led him to realize that perhaps, sending the Ministry's best Aurors to a place known for driving its residents insane, was not such a great idea. Especially not over long periods of time.

It led him to realize that the Pure-bloods behind the idea might have had an ulterior motive, when presenting the Wizengamot with that very proposal. It led him to realize that, just maybe, it was a deliberate ploy to weaken the Auror corps and subsequently facilitate the Dark Lord's conquest of Magical Britain.

Of course, he also knew that the Dark Lord Voldemort was now dead. Unfortunately, his ideals had far from died with him, and politics had never been as tense as they were now. While he could not publicly disclose his opinions – that would surely get him fired – he did not bother trying to convince himself that the likes of Lucius Malfoy were not Death Eaters in disguise.

Williamson knew that something was bound to happen soon; society was slowly reaching its boiling point and it would not take long before someone, or something, caused the proverbial bubble to burst. Little did he know, it would happen sooner rather than later.

Fort Azkaban was not supposed to shake. It had a very sturdy foundation anchored deep into the island beneath, and nothing less than a full-scale earthquake was enough to make the triangular stronghold budge. Even then, the magical protections erected around it should have been more than sufficient to dampen the shaking to a negligible tremor, and the walls should most certainly not have suddenly blown apart.

Without any time to spare, Auror Williamson sprang into action, brandishing his wand and sending off an alert to the Ministry with his Patronus. It was a risky gamble, as the Dementors did not differentiate between friend and foe. However, as a civil servant, it was his duty to put the safety of his country before his own.

A breakout from Azkaban would definitely count toward the former.

He could only hope that his fellow Aurors, which were all stationed at different sections of the fortress, would be able to defend themselves against this possible intruder. Williamson warily rounded a corner, holding his wand tightly in front of him as he stalked down a corridor which was now completely reduced to rubble.

He did not know if it was comforting or worrying, that every prisoner he came across had been crushed to death under tons of stone or liquified in some unidentifiable manner. There was something familiar about it, yet he could not quite place where he had seen or heard of such a thing before.

When cruel laughter echoed down the hallway, he tensed in preparation. Williamson barely even dared to think it, but that was what he imagined the Dark Lord must have sounded like.

He had never been happier to see a Dementor, or in this case a small number of them, hovering inches above the cracked and broken floor. The cold laughter was momentarily drowned out by other fears, until a yellow light tore through the Dementors and blasted a new, large hole in the far end of the corridor.

He heard the soft tapping of approaching footsteps, and quickly hid in the nearest and most intact cell. The Auror considered confronting whoever it was that stood only a couple of feet away from him, obscured only by an almost entirely collapsed cell wall.

Williamson was divided between his duty, and the fully rational fear which had settled over his heart.

Whoever the intruder was had the power to destroy Dementors. They were supposed to be immortal. Ancient wards also meant nothing, apparently, nor did tens of feet of solid stone. No man could do what this intruder had done.

No, this was the work of a God.

He could not do it. Each time he attempted to force himself to step forward, his mind rebelled. Eventually, he peeked through a crack in the stone wall and managed to make out a dark figure with wild hair.

The figure rose into the air, and Williamson noticed a second shape over its shoulder. A prisoner? Suddenly, light spewed forth from the intruder's form before it flew off, leaving the demolished prison in a streak of violet.

All he could do was let out a sigh of relief; if only slightly soothed by having lived through this horrible nightmare.


	14. Advent of the Mortis Lux

Albus Dumbledore prided himself in his ability to remain unflappable under even the most dire and unexpected of circumstances. When he descended the spiral staircase leading from his personal chambers down to the headmaster's office, he merely raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the dozens of owls perching upon his various magical instruments.

As one, the owls turned their heads toward him and began hooting excitedly. The birds suddenly took off, flying in circles above him while dropping a seemingly endless number of letters onto his desk.

"Oh, my."

Albus stroked his beard, wondering what could possibly have warranted such a need to communicate with him. He was well aware of his numerous positions and responsibilities, but never had he received so many letters at once.

The old wizard waved a hand, and the pile of letters rearranged themselves into a tall but neat stack. He decided to look through them later; after all, even Albus Dumbledore enjoyed the right to a calm breakfast while reading the latest news. Matters of business could stand to wait another couple of minutes.

A house elf suddenly popped inside his office, carrying with it a tray filled with food and drink. Elves were such wonderful beings, he thought, yet so overlooked by society. Where most of the world viewed them as mere servants, he instead saw a species more attuned to magic than most wizards could ever dream of becoming.

Apparating within Hogwarts' wards – now that was a feat worthy of studying.

"Master Dumbly's breakfast, sir, and his copy of the Prophet." squeaked the elf, placing the tray in front of him and bowing deeply. Albus smiled in gratitude.

"Thank you, Mipsy." he replied, and the little elf vanished with another bow. Albus took a sip of his pumpkin juice, unfolding the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. He was curious to find out what ridiculous article Rita Skeeter had cooked up for today.

Once Albus' eyes found the front-page headline, he promptly spat out all of the remaining pumpkin juice in his mouth.

 _Massacre at Azkaban! Blacks missing!_

 _By: Rita Skeeter_

 _In what is undoubtedly one of the bloodiest and most grisly developments since the Great War, the night of September 5th has been one fraught with death and destruction. Last night, the previously considered impenetrable Fort Azkaban was razed to the ground._

 _The only consolation appears to be that its prisoners, among which included Death Eaters and the most heinous of criminals, perished during the siege._

 _Aurors report that only two prisoners are unaccounted for, namely Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange. As some of the readers may already know, Bellatrix Lestrange is a Black by birth, only assuming the surname of Lestrange following her marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange._

 _Only a month ago, this very reporter speculated that the death of Amycus Carrow was merely the beginning of something far more grievous and sinister. Could this recent act have been committed by the same person responsible for the former?_

 _This reporter would like to believe so. Evidence from the scene suggests that many of the prisoners died in a manner similar to Mr. Carrow. The obvious conclusion is that the perpetrator is out for revenge, and only the disappearance of the two Blacks serves to dispute this assessment._

 _The only eyewitness account of the event comes from one Mr. Williamson, an Auror who was present during the attack, and he had this to say:_

 _"It was terrifying. One minute everything was just as usual, and the next half of Azkaban had been blown to pieces. I managed to catch a glimpse of a figure, tall and dark, with another over its shoulder."_

 _Upon further questioning, the Auror revealed that this mysterious figure had exuded a deadly light, burning all it came into contact with until nothing remained._

 _"Even Dementors stood no chance."_

 _It is an alarming thought that there exists someone out there with the power to destroy immortal Dementors. We can only hope that this individual, recently christened the 'Mortis Lux' – Light of Death – does not turn their ire toward the rest of us._

 _For more information on the Black family, see page 7._

Albus finally made sense of the stack of letters on his desk, and quickly forsook his breakfast in favor of tearing them open.

* * *

"Why's everyone looking so weird?" Harry eloquently inquired, observing the people in the green-clad common room. Nearly every other student had an expression of either glee, sadness or rage on their faces.

In response, Blaise picked up a copy of a newspaper from the nearest table and thrust it into his hands. He did a double take at the headline, and quickly read through the article.

"Oh."

His friend suddenly grabbed his arm and dragged him along; paper still held in his hand. They made their way out of the common room and into the hallways of the dungeons.

"Not everyone is happy about this, Harry." Blaise informed. "Lots of people were put in Azkaban after you defeated You-Know-Who."

"So?"

" _So?_ Harry, even Death Eaters have families. If you think there's no one here with ties to them, you'd better think again."

It finally dawned on him. Those whose relatives had perished would likely pin the blame on Harry. If not for him, they might not have been sent to Azkaban in the first place. It made a twisted sort of sense, when you thought about it.

"But, er, they're a minority, right?" he countered weakly, hoping that the rest of his time at Hogwarts would not become a struggle for survival.

Blaise shrugged unhelpfully. "Yes, but most of them happen to be in Slytherin. Just look at Flora and Hestia, they're both Carrows. You know, like that guy who died a month ago."

Flora and Hestia Carrow were the oddballs of the Slytherin first-years. They always sat alone, as far away from any other people as was physically possible. Being twins, they looked virtually identical, with the same thin build and long blonde hair.

Harry had never paid them much mind, beyond the fact that they always seemed to shoot him creepy glances whenever they thought he was not looking. Suddenly, thinking about those glances made him feel rather vulnerable.

"And worst of all, it looks like Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange got away somehow. They're arguably You-Know-Who's most devoted followers." Blaise continued.

"Bugger."

* * *

Harry breezed through his first Charms class, having already successfully performed the Levitation Charm before even arriving at the castle. Professor Flitwick had been delighted, showering him in compliments and making many comparisons between Harry and his mother.

Much like his father had a knack for Transfiguration, he learned that his mother had been particularly talented with Charms. He did not have the heart to tell his elated and reminiscing professor that his success may have been purely coincidental, and that he might fail the next charm miserably.

"Thank you, sir." said Harry, gratefully accepting the ten points he had been awarded for levitating his feather.

"Is there anything you're bad at?" Blaise muttered from beside him.

"Probably. I just haven't found it yet." he snootily replied. Blaise snorted and resumed his attempts with his own feather.

Having nothing else to do, Harry absentmindedly looked around at the other Slytherins. The class mostly took place in silence, unless you counted the repeated chanting of 'Wingardium Leviosa' and subsequent dejected grumbles of failure. Far rarer were the brief exclamations of joy whenever someone actually managed to have their feather jump into the air, before it floated back down onto their desk.

He caught Daphne throwing him a discreet glance from across the classroom. She was seated beside a redheaded girl named Tracey Davis, if he recalled correctly. Harry could see her swishing and flicking her wand in vain, and the telltale signs of growing frustration.

Professor Flitwick was currently occupied assisting another girl, and so did not notice that Daphne was mirroring his wand movement instead of accurately emulating it. When Harry saw her eyes flicker back toward him, he quickly motioned to his wand and used his finger to show a swish in the opposite direction.

Understanding crossed her face, and when she attempted the spell once more, her previously unmoving feather slowly rose into the air. Harry saw how Tracey suddenly clung to Daphne's arm, no doubt bombarding her with questions about how she managed to pull off the charm.

He smiled when she covertly shot him a look of appreciation. Perhaps it would not be long before she stopped evading him. The girl had yet to turn in her homework, after all.

* * *

Black's first active venture into the common world, or Muggle world as the magicals would call it, had been a disaster.

Apparently, most humans found it strange to be questioned about everyday aspects of life by a man wearing a gi. Luckily, even the most apprehensive and skeptical of people had been courteous enough to inform him that money could be acquired at something called an 'ATM'.

After _covertly_ _appropriating_ a large enough amount of the currency known as pounds, Black had made for the nearest high-quality clothing store and purchased a three-piece suit. It was apparently the high standard of fashion on Earth, and once clad in his new outfit he had rapidly noticed the change in people's attitudes.

Whereas his appearance had previously warranted him a mixture of curious and spurning glances, he could now see several heads turning toward him in respect, jealousy and oddly enough, unbridled passion – the latter of which came mostly from human females.

Black ignored the blatant attempt at seduction from the real-estate agent in front of him and repressed a disgusted sneer. He had come to this place to acquire a home, not for some mortal to lay her filthy hands all over him.

"Yes, that is correct." he confirmed, leaning away from the middle-aged woman currently attempting to press her considerable bosom against his chest. She pouted ever so slightly, casually flicking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

"I see, Mister Son." she said. "It just so happens that we have a manor for sale which fits your description perfectly."

At last, progress. He needed a place to reside in, somewhere far from society and with the necessary amenities for his experiments. Even he, however, realized that asking for 'something large and quiet enough for me to dissect human brains in' would not go well with the mortals, and keeping Bellatrix hidden in an abandoned shack would not work forever.

The woman then continued to provide him with unnecessary facts, which he felt obliged to listen to lest the imminent business transaction be cut just short of completion.

"It's a relatively small manor, but what it lacks in size is made up for with charm and history. Constructed as far back as during the seventeenth century, the Woodland Manor…"

Black found his attention slipping with each second, and only made a few occasional sounds of faked wonder and acknowledgement whenever she showed him a picture or said something with particular emphasis. He truly felt sorry for Harry if this was the kind of conversation he had to deal with on a regular basis.

"Fascinating." he said, once she finished her detailing of the manor's history. Of course, what he had actually considered to be fascinating was the fact that the woman had finally ceased talking.

"Isn't it? And it can be yours for only ten million pounds!"

He supposed it was a cheap price from the easygoing way she had announced it. Not that it mattered to him either way; now that he understood human currency and trading he could simply use his Kai powers to materialize enough gold until it equated the required cost.

"Excellent." said Black, and the woman brightened even further. He only barely refrained from violently shrugging her off when she linked arms with him, leading him inside her office. She motioned for him to sit in a chair by her desk.

"Would you like a cup of tea while we go over the details?" she asked, and he immediately reassessed everything he knew about her. Black now found himself rather curious to see what shade her tea would take; if he would find any latent virtues behind her sinful shell of lust.

"That would be delightful."


	15. The Flower and the Hearth

A week had passed since Harry first heard of the news about Azkaban, and he was happy to note that his life at Hogwarts remained much the same. A few additional glances here and there and some not-so-discreet whispers, but nothing too out of the ordinary.

"See? Over there, with the messy hair!"

"With the earring?"

"Yes. Some say he and Dumbledore were behind the massacre."

"That's ridiculous."

Harry threw a scathing look at the gossiping duo of Hufflepuffs, who were not even trying to keep their conversation to themselves. At least one of them seemed to realize how dumb the rumors were.

Once spotting his stare, they turned away sharply and lowered their voices.

He sighed, focusing his attention back to the Quidditch book he had been reading. The Slytherins had a free period in the morning, and Harry made sure to spend it in the library, reading up on anything he could find about flying in preparation for their class. Aside from Potions and Transfiguration, it was one of the things he was most looking forward to.

There was something about flying that called out to him. While Quidditch sounded like an enjoyable sport, it was the flying in itself that appealed to him. Harry's entire body trembled in anticipation, eagerly awaiting the moment he could finally roam the skies.

The only downside was that he would need to use a broom. It was a reasonable tradeoff, he figured, in exchange for the ability to fly. However, just the thought of feeling the wind blowing against his body; imagining what it would be like to drift among the clouds solely under his own power - it was enough to make his heart ache with longing.

Unfortunately, none of the books he had skimmed through mentioned anything about unaided flight, and Madam Pince had scoffed at the notion, saying that she had never heard of any such magic.

"Now, now… What has Harry Potter looking so dispirited?"

Harry felt his right ear suddenly grow warm from the close, nearly silent whisper.

"Yes… And sitting here, _all alone_ …" a second voice whispered in his other ear, and a chill ran down his spine.

Both voices were soft and quiet, nearly identical to each other, with a dark, broken quality that made them eerily unsettling.

He turned to the left, meeting a pair of dead, hazel eyes. They stared blankly into his own, as though looking right through him. Shifting awkwardly around to the right, Harry found another identical pair of eyes boring into him just as vacantly as the first.

He instantly knew who the two newcomers were. This meeting was something he had expected and dreaded at the same time.

"Flora, Hestia."

The twins both gasped silently; with only the slightest hint of mockery in their tone.

"He knows us… Who would have guessed?"

"Indeed… That the mighty Harry Potter knows of us lowly Death Eaters in the making…"

Harry immediately shot out of his chair, almost knocking it over. Flora's and Hestia's eyes widened for a split-second, and their arms instinctively moved to cover their faces. He gaped at the reaction, unbidden memories from some of the darker moments of his early childhood coming to the forefront of his mind.

"I don't think you're Death Eaters!"

Some of the older students nearby glared at them disapprovingly, and Harry looked around with a concerned expression. He made sure to lower his voice.

"Look, I don't know what you want with me, but let's talk somewhere else."

* * *

Hermione Granger was racing through Hogwarts Castle at uncharacteristically high speeds. She weaved and dodged around other students, hurrying through as many corridors and floors as possible in search of Harry.

They were supposed to start working on their new little project for Transfiguration; something she had been eagerly awaiting for nearly a whole week. Hermione could not believe Harry would ditch her like this in the last second.

Which meant he had either dozed off somewhere or something had happened to him. She had been to the library, where he should have been waiting for her, only for him to be nowhere in sight. When asking some Hufflepuffs if they had seen him, the only reply she received was that he had rushed off with some twin girls.

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought, and Hermione was unsure whether it was because of exhaustion from running through the castle or something else.

"Granger, what are you doing?"

She jumped and spun around, coming face to face with Daphne Greengrass. The two girls briefly stared each other down in the narrow and cramped Trophy Room. Several shelves and large transparent display cases furnished the room, holding everything from plaques to large trophies and other decorations.

"Oh, it's you." Hermione said, exhaling. "I'm looking for Harry. Have you seen him?"

"I was about to ask you."

"No, Greengrass. I haven't seen him anywhere and I've searched the whole school."

Daphne shook her head. "Obviously not, or you would've found him."

Hermione bit back a snarky reply and settled for narrowing her eyes. "Where'd you look then?"

"He's a Slytherin, Granger. If he's actually hiding, he'll have gone somewhere no one would think to look."

What did that even mean? Hogwarts was large, but there was almost always someone around in the vicinity. There were not exactly many places to hide where nobody would eventually come across you.

"You mean like somewhere in plain sight?" she asked.

"Nothing quite so crude, Granger. He's cunning, loath as I am to admit it. As I said, _Slytherin_." replied Daphne, looking at her with an expression bordering on pretentious.

"We don't follow the rules. We'll do anything it takes to accomplish our goals. If you haven't found him, it's because you've limited your searching to places you and everyone else would find reasonable."

Hermione could not help the disdain in her tone. "What, so you're saying he's in the girls' lavatory or something?"

Daphne's look of surprise and ensuing contemplative silence threw her for a loop.

* * *

"And that…" said Flora.

"Is what we wanted to tell you." finished Hestia.

Harry breathed out deeply, finally releasing the long breath he had been holding in for the duration of the twins' little story. He had his suspicions; the signs were there. However, to hear it spoken out loud - to hear the retelling of something so relatable, and yet so much worse than anything he himself had gone through, was staggering to say the least.

"I guess…" they said in unison. "What we're trying to say is that… we don't mind."

Their superimposed voices echoed strangely in the small lavatory on the first floor. Harry suspected no one outside of Daphne, and perhaps Snape, to even think of searching for them here. As Daphne was not yet speaking to him, and Snape would rather be caught dead than inside a girls' bathroom for anything but the most important of reasons, he felt completely hidden.

Flora and Hestia, to their credit, did not even blink at finding themselves inside a bathroom with a boy. Instead, they immediately began recounting numerous suppressed horrors about their early childhood, going so far as to nearly beg him to help them escape their abusive and sadistic mother.

Harry had tried explaining to them that he was not what everyone seemed to believe, that he could not simply get rid of any problem by snapping his fingers. The two twins vehemently believed that he was in some way behind the death of their father, and that he could make their mother disappear as well.

The most disturbing part was that the twins' theory was not even all that farfetched. After all, the disappearance of both confirmed and suspected Death Eaters alike coincided with his 'reappearance' in the magical world.

He looked at them warily. "Look… I really do want to help you, but there's nothing I can do. You could, er… maybe try talking to one of the professors? Or Dumbledore?"

Flora laughed; a high-pitched, cold laugh which had him shivering from its hollowness and resignation.

"I should've known. It was always too good to be true."

Hestia looked down solemnly from beside her sister. "We thought you were different. Someone who would act and not just talk."

Harry blinked in disbelief. What exactly did people think of Harry Potter to expect this much from him?

"What do you even want me to do?" he cried. "You need to talk to someone, explain everything to them like you did to me!"

They did not answer, instead turning away and looking down at the polished, white floor. He sighed, running a hand through his hair in irritation. Not all stories were easy to share.

"Alright, I'll try to help you, but no promises."

The two girls looked at him with large, hopeful eyes, instead of their usual dull and passive stare. He noticed the amber now had a slight ruby tint shining through from within, illuminating the orbs and making them sparkle with life.

* * *

Hermione and Daphne managed to escape the teenage ghost haunting the second-floor girls' lavatory; her screeching still ringing in their ears when they rushed down the stairs to the first floor.

"No running in the hallways. Five points from Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Hermione grumbled under her breath, forcing herself to move at a slower pace. She resisted the infantile urge to stick out her tongue at the prefect's back.

"Well, he wasn't there." she told Daphne. "There's only the first-floor toilets left. I told you this was a ridiculous idea."

The other girl did not acknowledge her comment, walking determinedly toward the entrance hall before turning left and heading into the Tapestry Corridor. Hermione hurried after her, looking over her shoulder to make sure no other prefects were nearby, ready to take any more points.

She bumped into the raven-haired girl's back, who had stopped abruptly, almost sending both of them tumbling to the floor.

"Greengrass! Why did you stop?"

Daphne merely put a finger to her lips, demanding silence, before pointing at something in the distance. Hermione squinted her eyes, making out a figure uncannily similar to Harry in the far end of the corridor.

The two girls silently stalked the boy, keeping out of sight by pressing themselves against the wall and pausing behind some statues every now and then. As they approached him, Hermione could hear him grumbling annoyedly to himself.

"Bloody rumors… stupid girls…"

Both first-years developed similar expressions on their faces. They would find out exactly what Harry was up to, with force if necessary.

"Always me… only a week…"

Hermione clearly heard his suffering sigh and shared a look with Daphne. It was as though an understanding had been reached between them, and they decided to catch up to the boy.

"Harry! There you are!" she called out, running up to him.

He turned around, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. "M-Mione? Daphne?" he stuttered, looking between them with obvious surprise.

"We've been looking for you everywhere! Well, I have. Greengrass tagged along halfway." she explained, fixing him with a glare. "We were supposed to study together."

At least he turned slightly apologetic at that. "Sorry, I, uh… got a little sidetracked."

Daphne then pulled a roll of parchment from her robes and forced it into Harry's hands.

"Here. And don't take this the wrong way. It's not like we're talking again or anything."

Hermione observed the odd exchange, trailing the Slytherin girl with her eyes as she walked away. Harry had a silly little smile on his face when she looked back at him, and something made her want to wipe it clean off.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him along, leading him to the library.

"We still have some time before Flying class, and you're going to make up for having me run around the castle like a buffoon."

"Yes, ma'am."

Hermione was terrified of flying, and not even Harry's presence there could make her feel better about it. She was scared of heights.

Only studying could take her mind off it.


	16. A Meeting Long Overdue

At about three-thirty that same Tuesday afternoon, Harry walked together with a very panicky and anxious Hermione down the last steps to the training grounds. The grounds were large, situated nearby the Herbology greenhouses and with flat fields of grass stretching all the way to the Great Lake.

The poor girl seemed even more nervous about flying than she had been for the sorting. Harry was a little let down over the fact that she did not share his joy, but figured that all people were different.

"I'm sure you'll do great." he said, patting Hermione on the shoulder. "You pick up on every subject in the blink of an eye, so why should flying be any different?"

"T- Thanks, I guess." she replied tensely.

Once they approached the flight range, Harry saw twenty-or-so broomsticks laid down on the lawn in a row. It was also the first time he had ever seen so many students early to class. In fact, most of them already appeared to be there, chatting loudly and animatedly.

He heard Ron Weasley boasting to another Gryffindor about the time he had hit a hanglider with his brother's old broom. It looked like all of the Slytherins had gathered on one side, and the Gryffindors on the other.

Harry briefly considered joining his fellow housemates, before catching sight of Hermione staring fearfully at a decrepit broom. The handle looked chipped and prone to cause splinters, and the straws in the rear end protruded at random angles.

None of the brooms looked particularly serviceable, and he was once again strengthened in his resolve to find a way of flying unaided. Harry did not pay attention to the peculiar looks he received when joining the Gryffindor side of the field, standing behind one of the shabby broomsticks next to Hermione.

"Good evening class!" called Madam Hooch, coming into view as she walked between the assembled students and stood in the far end.

"Good evening Madam Hooch!" replied the class in unison, or rather, the Gryffindors. Harry's ears ringed from their loud response.

"Welcome to your very first flying lesson. Now, step to the left of your broom, hold up your right hand, and say 'Up!'"

"Up!" everyone chorused, once doing as they had been instructed. Harry's broom immediately shot up into the palm of his hand. Sneaking a look to the side, he noticed Hermione's broom rolling around on the grass. On his other side, Neville Longbottom was not faring much better.

Opposite him, he interestedly noted that Draco Malfoy was the only student other than himself that had managed the summoning. His fellow Slytherin met his gaze and smirked ever so slightly. Harry returned the smirk, and Malfoy's grey eyes widened in a short flash of surprise.

He then repressed a snicker at Ron's expense, when he saw the boy get whacked straight in the middle of his face, and at Blaise who was sneering down disdainfully at his uncooperative broom. Flora and Hestia, who stood at the far end of the line, were equally unsuccessful.

"You must speak with more determination!" Hooch shouted, drowning out most of the students' cries.

He tapped both Hermione and Neville on their shoulders. "She's right you know. I read that brooms respond to emotion almost as much as handling."

The nervous Gryffindors both looked as though they wanted to be as far away from the lawn as possible, with their feet firmly planted on solid ground.

"I don't think we've ever spoken, by the way." added Harry, turning to Neville. "Harry Potter."

"N- Neville Longbottom." came the bashful reply, although he already knew the boy's name.

"Just forget about flying for a moment." he told them. "All you have to do is summon the broom. Nothing else."

"O- Okay." they both stammered.

It took a while, but eventually both Hermione and Neville managed to pull it off, along with the rest of the class. A few minutes later and Madam Hooch nodded to herself, pleased.

"Excellent. Now that you're all holding your brooms, I want you to mount them. Grip them tightly. You don't want to be sliding off the end."

The two Gryffindors beside him whimpered in a decidedly non-Gryffindorish way, but complied. Harry did the same, gripping tightly around the handle, one hand in front of the other.

"When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off the ground. Hover for a moment, then lean forward slightly and touch back down."

Hooch raised her hand, holding a whistle only inches from her lips. "Three… two… one…"

She blew the whistle and Neville, who was already very uneasy, took off like a rocket. Some students screamed when the boy rose tens of feet into the air, his broom buckling and turning sporadically.

"Mister Longbottom! Come back down this instant!" shouted Madam Hooch, and Harry would have rolled his eyes had his mind not been racing to find a way to help his classmate. Neville was obviously not in control.

He winced when the pudgy boy began to slip, holding on for dear life while his broom repeatedly rammed itself against the castle walls. Neville suddenly swooped down in a fast dive, coming toward them and forcing everyone to throw themselves out of the way.

Harry reached for his wand, aiming it at the Gryffindor and praying that his impromptu plan would work. He had never attempted to aim a spell at a moving target before.

Luckily, there was a moment of reprieve when Neville's cloak stuck to a lance on one of the statues decorating the ramparts. The boy was yanked off his broom, now suspended in mid-air by nothing but a thin piece of fabric.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

He made sure to aim for Neville's pants, knowing that the spell was useless on living beings. It was just in time as well; the cloak had now completely torn apart and the only thing keeping the Gryffindor from numerous broken bones were his straining pants and Harry's concentration.

The spell was exceedingly difficult to maintain, and he idly wondered if the charm required more power with added weight. Harry steadied his wand arm, gripping it firmly with his left hand, and gently lowered Neville back to the ground.

Once the boy was hovering only a foot over the grass, he broke the spell, sitting down on the lawn and panting slightly. Madam Hooch raced over to where Neville had landed, making sure that he was unharmed.

"Harry!"

He wiped a drop of sweat off his forehead and turned to Hermione, who was looking at him with concern.

"Are you alright?" she asked, gripping him by the shoulders, and he nodded.

"Yeah… Just a little tired."

"That was amazing!" someone shouted.

Harry looked around and saw the faces of his fellow students, who were all sending him appreciative and admiring glances. Even Malfoy, who he thought would be sour, nodded in recognition. Daphne briefly met his eyes, from where she stood between Tracey and, much to his chagrin, Pansy Parkinson. The pug-faced girl insisted on scowling at him vehemently at every turn, and Harry did not have the slightest clue as to why.

"Mister Potter." said Hooch, who was now approaching him with Neville by her side. "Fifty points to Slytherin for your quick thinking."

He bit back a comment about how she, as someone in a position of responsibility, should have been thinking even quicker. The shy Gryffindor, however, surprised him by holding out his hand, looking far more determined than he would have thought possible for someone who had just gone through such an experience.

"Th- Thanks, Harry. I owe you one."

The two boys shook hands, and he could hear the rest of the class begin clapping.

"It was nothing. I'm sure you would have done the same for me."

* * *

All modesty aside, Harry was fairly certain that he was now the single, most popular Slytherin among Gryffindors that Hogwarts had ever witnessed. The rivalry between the two houses was a thing of legend, yet he received hearty claps on the back from nearly every lion he came across on his way to the Headmaster's office.

The latest form of praise came in the afternoon from Percy Weasley, a Gryffindor prefect, who demanded to shake his hand while complementing him over and over. The older student made sure to tell Harry that he was already well on his way to becoming a prefect, by setting such a shining example for others.

He thanked Percy, and quickly closed the remaining distance to the gargoyle standing guard behind the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Snape, who had been so pleased at Harry's contribution to the House Cup, did not even blink upon hearing his request to meet with the Headmaster.

"Sherbet lemon." he said, repeating the odd password that had been given to him. The gargoyle swung aside wordlessly, revealing a narrow staircase. Once he had climbed all of the steps, Harry reached an oaken double door.

The moment he reached up, intending to knock, a warm, elderly voice called out to him.

"Enter."

He pushed open the doors and entered the office. Out of all the places he had visited in the castle until now, the Headmaster's office was probably the most interesting.

It was a large, circular room, with moving portraits and paintings covering almost ever inch of the walls around him. There were several small tables spread out across the room, each littered with ancient books and strange magical instruments, which made odd, whirring sounds.

An enormous, claw-footed desk stood at the far end, in front of a large shelf and a small, spiral staircase. He recognized the Sorting Hat sitting peacefully next to some books, looking as though it was fast asleep.

However, most importantly, on a chair behind the desk sat none other than Albus Dumbledore. The esteemed wizard smiled at him, blue eyes twinkling and shining with mirth over his half-moon spectacles.

"Ah, the look of youthful wonder... 'Tis one of the great joys of teaching, Harry, being able to relive those bygone moments of innocent curiosity."

Harry blinked, caught off guard by the seemingly arbitrary observation. Dumbledore chuckled, unfolding his hands and placing them against the surface of his desk.

"I will admit, I've been expecting you for some time now, my boy."

"You have?" asked Harry.

The Headmaster nodded, picking up his wand from where it lay next to a stack of opened letters. It was the longest wand he had ever seen, with what looked like clusters of elderberries running down its length all the way to the handle. He could easily recognize the shape from one of the small plants back home at Privet Drive.

Dumbledore waved the wand, and conjured a large, fluffy armchair adjacent to his desk.

"Have a seat, Harry." he said, smiling even wider at Harry's amazed reaction to the casual feat of advanced conjuration.

"Would you like a sherbet lemon?" asked the old wizard once he had sat down. He happily accepted the sweet, taking one out from the proffered box and popping it into his mouth.

"Oh! The password!" Harry exclaimed, while enjoying the candy's blend of sweetness and sourness.

"Very astute of you."

He paused momentarily. "Wait, sir… Does this mean all your passwords are names of different sweets?"

Dumbledore smiled mischievously, leaning forward over his desk. "It'll be our secret. I trust you not to abuse it." he whispered, and Harry nodded; an involuntary laugh escaping him.

"Anyway…" Harry began, once he had sobered. "There was something I was hoping to ask you about."

"Ask away."

"Well, you see… Earlier today, two girls in my year, Flora and Hestia, they… er… told me about some pretty terrible things."

The Headmaster lost a great deal of his cheer, and his many wrinkles grew even more pronounced.

"They're not exactly comfortable sharing it, and refused to tell anyone else. I'm worried about them. It's their mother… she's a Death Eater."

The last remnant of a twinkle faded from Dumbledore's eyes, which now looked just as old as the wizard really was, and he sunk into the back of his chair with a sigh.

"I had hoped you would be spared from the harsh reality of our world… At least for a couple more years to come. However, your compassion is something to be admired."

"So, can we do something?"

His professor shook his head sadly, looking as though it pained him.

"I'm afraid not. The Carrows are an influential family, and nothing short of irrefutable evidence of their crimes would be enough to free your friends from their unfortunate home lives."

"I see." replied Harry, dejectedly.

"However…" Dumbledore continued, and his eyes immediately snapped back to the Headmaster. "If, perchance, such evidence would happen to find itself in my hands, I am certain that my good friend Arthur Weasley would be more than willing to press the ministry into conducting a raid or two."

Once the words had fully registered in his mind, a wide smile broke out across Harry's face.

The girls only needed to smuggle something incriminating into the school to warrant a search, and surely, a family as entrenched in crime and corruption as the Carrows would have more dark secrets to discover. Then, the twins' mother would be arrested, leaving Flora and Hestia free of her influence.

Professor Dumbledore's twinkle returned in full force, and the two could not help but share a moment of hopeful joy.

"Thank you, sir!" Harry exclaimed.

"Oh, quite the contrary, my boy. Thank _you_ , for reminding an old man of his most important duties."

After a period of brief silence, Dumbledore adopted an inquisitive expression and stroked his long beard in thought.

"Do tell, Harry, how is life in Slytherin treating you?"


	17. Our Heart's Desire

A.N. Wow, it's been a while! Thanks for all the reviews and kind words during these past few months. I've read them all and wanted nothing more than to get back into this story. In case anyone is wondering, I fell ill back in March, and later had to cram for exams to make up for all the lost time. Basically, I've been really busy all throughout spring and unable to write.

In any case, I'm back now! Hope you enjoy the next chapter, although to be fair, this one is more of a recap for me to get back into author mentality than anything... ;)

* * *

Harry returned to the common room late that night. Both he and Professor Dumbledore had completely lost track of time, having spent it conversing about almost every topic imaginable.

The Headmaster had conjured a bowl of ever-filling sandwiches, as well as a jar of pumpkin juice, before explaining that no – he was not defying Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration – he was merely summoning the food directly from the kitchen.

Dumbledore had turned out to be the virtual fountain of knowledge that you would expect him to be, supplying Harry with tidbits of wisdom and information about anything and everything. The old wizard had been overjoyed upon hearing that Harry's favorite subject was Transfiguration, and regaled him with some stories of his own time at Hogwarts.

It was certainly motivational, to say the least. He could now see why Hermione so adamantly wished to follow in Dumbledore's footsteps. Before he left, the Headmaster managed to surprise him one final time by handing him a yellowed and tattered paper titled _'Transfiguration Today – Edition 2579'_.

Harry wanted to begin reading it immediately, but the moment his head made contact with the pillow on his bed, he went out like a light.

* * *

For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Harry was bored in class. It was not that he disliked Herbology – it had many uses and was applicable in other fields such as Potions and even Defense. However, the first-year curriculum mostly involved caring for simple plants with the most basic of magical properties.

He did not particularly enjoy repotting and watering plants which would never be seen again once the class finished.

Understandably, the end of their first period therefore came as a blessing, and Harry hurried to scrub his filthy hands clean of dirt and soil. He forced himself to relax, exhaling deeply, and carefully circled his neck.

For some odd reason, he had woken up with an intense feeling of weight upon his shoulders. It was not so much the studying as it was the realization of everything else he had gotten himself into.

He needed to break the news to Flora and Hestia. He needed to read Daphne's essay and get her to talk to him again. He needed to work on his project with Hermione. He needed to find out why Malfoy was acting so strangely.

The list of undertakings went on and on, and Harry wondered if this was what stress felt like. He quickly left the greenhouse, barely registering Blaise calling out for him to wait up.

"Sorry, Blaise! I'll see you after lunch!" he shouted back, racing back up the lush fields of grass to the castle.

A short moment later and he reached the library. Harry walked down the corridor to the far end, sitting down by the desk he had claimed in all but words. Only a couple of feet behind him was the Restricted Section, holding books rumored to be too complicated and dangerous for students to read without permission.

Nothing but a short, thin rope separated those books from the rest of the library. All it would take was a careful step.

No one would suspect a trespasser in the middle of the day. Filch would no doubt be patrolling the hallways at night, and Madam Pince would surely be keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity in the late evenings. In broad daylight, however? That was highly unlikely.

No one would expect such a brazen and blatant attempt at rulebreaking, and Harry had not even noticed himself standing back up. Daphne's essay could wait a while longer.

He lifted his right leg, slowly and cautiously, before lowering it on the other side of the rope. It was a tentative step, as though he half expected some sort of alarm to go off. When it did not, his other leg quickly followed.

The whole ordeal was slightly anticlimactic. Harry walked down the Restricted Section, taking in the tall bookshelves on either side of him. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary.

At least, that was what he thought. His ears caught a hissing sound, almost like a whisper, coming from the right. It seemed to originate from one of the books, particularly one with a ripped and stained spine.

In very faded and worn out letters, it read _'Magick Moste Evile'_.

After a moment of morbid fascination, Harry tore his eyes from the book and resumed his walking. Maybe there was something to the whole 'restricted' deal, after all.

Other titles he glazed over included _'Famous Fire-Eaters'_ , _'Fifteenth-Century Fiends'_ and for some reason beyond his comprehension, a copy of the _'Book of Spells'_. It seemed completely out of place among all the other, much darker books.

Perhaps it was a very rare and valuable copy of the now mass-produced textbook. It really was too bad he could not ask anyone about it.

* * *

Draco stared longingly into the tall mirror opposite him, much the same as he had done for many of the past days and nights. He had quickly become enraptured by the impossible sight unfolding before his very eyes, unwilling to let it go.

The mirror itself was an unremarkable thing, compared to that which it showed. Along its frame carved vines appeared to crawl their way up, fading away at the top to reveal a strange inscription.

 _'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi'_.

Draco had spent a short while attempting to make sense of the words, moving ever closer to the mirror, when he spotted something strange behind his reflection.

His parents stood behind him, each with a comforting hand resting on his shoulders. They looked both identical and yet completely different from what he was used to. His father, Lucius, wore a gentle smile that Draco had only ever been graced with once in his life.

His mother, on the other hand, appeared instead to be completely at ease. Gone were the haunted, dark eyes of Narcissa Malfoy, which betrayed a constant state of wariness and apprehension.

It was the perfect picture of an idyllic family of three, unbothered by any and all worldly troubles. Draco edged even closer to the mirror, pressing his hands against the glass. The imagery was something out of his wildest dreams, and he prayed that what he saw was the future.

A silver sparkle caught his attention, and he lowered his gaze to see a horribly familiar mask at his father's feet. His heart skipped a beat when he realized it was cracked.

Barely daring to hope, Draco looked back at his father to see his exposed left arm, the sleeve of his robe rolled back. A gasp escaped his throat when he saw that the skin was completely unblemished.

"Malfoy?!" a voice exclaimed, snapping him out of his reverie. A pair of hands yanked him backward, causing him to tear his eyes away from the mirror.

"What're you doing? And what the hell is that thing? You looked like a zombie!"

A what?

It was then that Draco finally saw just who had come upon him.

It was Potter. Why did it always have to be Potter? At first, he wanted to lay into Potter for catching him in a moment of vulnerability. The thought was quickly replaced with something different, however.

What would Potter see?

He took hold of the other boy's arm and shoved him in front of the mirror. The two Slytherins spent the next couple of minutes in silence, while Draco watched in fascination as Potter's face took on a myriad of different expressions.

He did not expect for it to settle on anger, of all things.

"I show not your face but your heart's desire."

The words had been whispered, nearly silent, and laced with venom. Once they registered, Draco deflated. The inscription finally made sense.

"It doesn't show us the future, then?" he asked.

"No." came the short response. "Anything you see in this… this _thing_ … you'll have to work for yourself."

A flicker of hope blossomed in Draco's chest at that, until he saw the forlorn expression on Potter's face.

"What did you see?" he asked.

His housemate slumped his shoulders in a way which made him look uncharacteristically weak.

"Something I'll never be able to have. My parents."

When the two boys eventually walked out of the abandoned classroom, Draco came to the startling realization that Potter and himself were not all that different.

* * *

Harry had been walking down the seemingly endless corridor filled with forbidden literature, when he came across a dusty old door standing ajar. He was not even sure if he was still in the Restricted Section anymore, given that he had long since passed the last of the bookshelves.

The obviously abandoned room practically bade for entrance, and Harry's curious mind could not help the urge. Once inside, the last thing he expected to find was Draco Malfoy standing in front of a mirror in some sort of trance.

It was a highly disturbing sight to see the boy gazing almost soullessly at his own reflection, mouth slightly open and hands pressing up against the surface of the glass. Harry was quick to pull Malfoy away from the mirror, breathing a sigh of relief when his fellow Slytherin came back to his senses.

When he subsequently found himself staring at his own reflection, however, Harry understood why Malfoy had been so enthralled.

He found himself staring at the impossibility in front of him for what felt like an eternity. Only a tiny prickle in the back of his mind prevented him from ending up in the same state as his housemate. Harry's eyes caught sight of the phrase inscribed along the mirror's frame, and it did not take long for him to work out the puzzle.

Once he did, he raged. How dare this mirror tempt him with images of that which he can never have? Whoever created the artifact must have been a cruel person, indeed.

He muttered a negative when Malfoy asked if it showed the future.

How could it possibly? His parents were dead. Some dreams might be attainable, but not this one. He told Draco as much.

When he was asked what he had seen, Harry's first instinct was to tell Malfoy to bugger off. There were not many things more personal than one's heart's desire. After a moment's consideration, however, he figured that he owed the boy after seeing him in such a miserable state.

Harry could feel his shoulders drooping. The question still weighed heavily on his mind.

"Something I'll never be able to have. My parents."

* * *

Black surveyed his new home with scrutinizing eyes. The manor was three stories tall, with a rigid foundation of stone. Most of the exterior was made of wood, however, which provided a passable bridge between human architecture and the godly beauty surrounding it.

He took a deep breath, relishing in the fresh and unpolluted air that came with uninhabited and untouched forests. It was the main point he had chosen this location – its remoteness. Tall trees encompassed his entire vision, thick with leaves and stretching further than even he could see.

With a great leap, Black took off into the air and landed flatly atop the large balcony on the manor's south wing. There stood a simple, round table, and a pair of accompanying chairs. He sat down, leaning back and looking up into the blue sky.

Soft gusts of wind tousled his hair, and he smiled softly when a flock of birds flew past, chirping peacefully. This was what Black lived for, and what motivated his cause. While mortals were the Gods' greatest mistake, nature was arguably their greatest achievement.

There was something primordial and wonderful about it; something that touched him in the deepest reaches of his heart and left him marveling for hours on end. This was what he wanted to protect and preserve within his new utopia. Only a cup of tea could make this moment better, and with that pleasant thought in mind he decided to head inside his abode.

The large, sliding glass door which separated the balcony from the manor's interior was tightly locked. Mortals had this strange necessity to seal every passageway shut, whether it be in their homes, vehicles or other contraptions. It was something Black had yet to comprehend and grow accustomed to.

He remembered the estate agent's baffled expression when she handed him the keys, and he, of course, asked whatever they could possibly be needed for. As he did not even know where said keys were anymore, Black instead fazed inside with Instant Transmission.

Now, all that remained was to brew a nice and steaming pot of tea. And, he figured, to find a way to soundproof the cellar. Bellatrix' screaming was already beginning to grate on his nerves; the horrid sound a sharp contrast to an otherwise serene atmosphere.


	18. Revelations

"Do you have _any_ idea of where you are?"

The question was not meant to be answered, and Bellatrix wisely chose to remain silent, opting instead to shake her lowered head.

"The soil upon which you crawl, mortal, is none other than that of the Sacred World of the Kais."

To hear the Lord speak of something with such reverence surprised Bellatrix. For the agonizingly long week she had known him, he appeared utterly indifferent to anyone and anything. Therefore, she picked her next words carefully.

"You honor me."

Of course, he was not _her_ Lord – that title was reserved for only one person. However, that did not mean she wished to spend another week under the worst torture imaginable; Azkaban included.

"Stand." he ordered, and Bellatrix complied. As she stood, she felt the seams of new, unfamiliar clothing rubbing uncomfortably against her sore skin. It was only fear which kept her from falling into a tremendous fit of rage, once she realized that she had been clad in a muggle outfit.

Voldemort's most faithful servant stared at the ground beneath the man she hated most. It was for her true Master that she endured this humiliation, taking comfort in the thought of him eventually killing the imposter.

"I'm no fool, Bella." spoke the Lord. "I know that your supposed obedience is but a means to abate your suffering."

"However…" he continued. "I shall have your loyalty soon enough. Lift your gaze, and bask in the glory of creation."

He would always say something like that. He would find a way to force her to look up, to meet his cold, onyx eyes. And he would always tower above her, hovering in the air with blatant superiority.

 _'Gods are meant to look down upon mortals.'_

That had been one of the first things he told her, once she awoke inside that damp cellar in the middle of nowhere. She finally raised her head, prepared to face her captor eye-to-eye.

Bellatrix felt her breath hitch.

The Lord did indeed hover above her; his features glimmering silver under the moonlight.

From three different moons.

The night sky shone a dark violet, illuminating endless fields of lush viridian grass, and not one of the numerous distant stars could be found on any of her old Astronomy charts.

"Allow me to formally introduce myself." he began, once again commanding her attention.

"I am Son Goku, God and King of the Worlds."

* * *

In the Borough of Islington, London, one could discern a rather odd sight. A large, black dog sat contemplatively on the pavement adjacent a grand old house. Resting firmly on its behind, the dog appeared completely lost in thought, gazing almost vacantly at a spot somewhere between numbers eleven and thirteen of Grimmauld Place.

The blink of an eye later, and a man stood in its place.

Unknown to all muggles, and even most magical people, the shaggy and unkempt beast had been none other than the recently escaped Sirius Black.

Sirius shook his head, not yet having come to terms with the fact that he was out of Azkaban.

The swim from the island to the mainland had been fairly calm and easy, all things considered. It had been tiring, but nothing compared to what he had endured behind bars. Not even being taken for a beggar had lowered his spirits, as with that came his first decent meal in over ten years.

Sirius spent the ensuing days wandering the streets of London, looking for that miserable rat, Pettigrew, despite knowing he needed a lead if he were ever to find him. The thought of his beloved godson breathing the same air as the man who betrayed his family had, for lack of a better expression, sent him into a blinding rage.

Luckily, time had eventually worn it down, and it now simmered dangerously in the back of his mind. Sirius took a deep breath, relishing in the freedom of clearer thoughts, and decided that he would enter his old ancestral home.

Unfortunately for him, he knew exactly what awaited on the other side of the house's decaying walls. Summoning every last drop of Gryffindor courage, he pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold.

Immediately, a popping sound greeted him, followed by a disgusted, rasping voice.

"Filthy, no-good, blood-traitor Master returns."

Sirius took in the decrepit appearance of his family's old house-elf, and found that he could not even be bothered to scold him. He was just too tired.

"You're right, I am filthy. Draw up a bath for me, Kreacher."

With no other choice but to obey, the house-elf popped away once more. It was then that Sirius finally recognized the state of his once noble home.

There were cobwebs everywhere, filling up the space where the wall tapestry had peeled off and littering every corner and crevice. The entrance hall looked even dirtier than his cell in Azkaban, and the carpet underneath his feet was wearing thin.

A snort of laughter escaped his throat, imagining the look of horror on his parents' faces if they could see this.

Sirius quickly came to regret his indulgence when a piercing shriek reached his ears.

"Mudbloods! Blood-traitors and filth in the House of Black! Vermin, scum! Begone fr- "

The velvet curtains hiding the life-sized painting of his deranged mother had flown apart, revealing the horrible visage that was Walburga Black.

"Hello, Mother." interrupted Sirius. "You seem to be doing well."

" _You_."

That was likely to be the only intelligent response his mother would give, before setting off into yet another tirade, this time retelling exactly how he had betrayed the family and what she thought of him.

"Stain of dishonor! Taint of shame on the house of our fathers! How dare you show your face here again after what you did?!"

Sirius waved a hand, expending nearly all his remaining strength to wandlessly seal the curtains shut. With that, it became all too obvious that he needed a wand, and he needed it badly.

In any case, that was a matter for another day. Since Kreacher was no doubt doing his utmost to follow his orders as slowly as possible, Sirius made his way into the basement kitchen and sat down on one of the wooden stools.

Now that he was a relatively free man, there was no excuse for shirking his responsibilities. He had a godson to write to.

If only there were some parchment and a quill lying about.

* * *

"I can't believe you're spending time with _Malfoy_ , Harry!" exclaimed Hermione. She looked confused and more than a little hurt.

Harry could not believe it either, but the two Slytherins had found themselves sat next to each other on more than one occasion as of late. He supposed some things could not help but bring people together.

"Honestly, 'Mione, neither can I." he responded. "But you trust me, don't you?"

She nodded reluctantly, her face still betraying indignation.

"Then let's talk about something else. How's your essay coming along?"

Both Harry and Hermione had a free afternoon, and decided to spend it together. Harry had finally gotten around to reading Daphne's paper, which was far more interesting and detailed than he had expected.

Hermione, on the other hand, had her nose buried deeply inside her Defense book. Professor Quirrell's latest homework was a particularly tricky one, at least for those who aspired to do more than the bare minimum.

"I'm almost done. It's just this part right _here_!" she said; a tinge of annoyance shining through as she pointed to a specific sentence.

"No matter how I write it, it doesn't sound good enough!"

He shrugged, giving it a quick read. "It looks fine to me. If anything, I'd worry more about Quirrell not being there to collect it."

It was true – they were entering October, with Halloween rapidly approaching, and Professor Quirrell was making himself more and more scarce by the day. Harry had always thought something seemed a bit odd about the man, but he could not quite figure out what it was.

Perhaps it was the unconvincing stutter, or the numerous other quirks of his, and the fact that his scar would sting in the professor's presence. His scar only hurt after particularly nasty nightmares, such as the one with the flash of green light and loud screaming.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "How long will you keep going on about that?"

He raised his arms in a show of resignation. "Hey, I'm just say-"

"There you are!"

Harry and Hermione both looked up to see Daphne and Blaise approaching them.

"Told you he'd be in the Library." said Blaise. "Predictable like a moth to the flame, that one."

"Hey!" said Harry indignantly. "Just because some people actually like to study doesn't mean-"

Daphne growled in annoyance, effectively cutting him off. "Shut up, both of you." she hissed, and the two male Slytherins immediately fell silent.

"You know how Potter's been going on about Quirrell lately, yeah?" she asked, looking around at her fellow students.

Hermione groaned. "Not you too."

"Well, we just saw him sprinting out of the entrance hall, looking more desperate than Lardbottom chasing the trolley on the Express."

Blaise snickered, and it took even Harry his best effort to keep a straight face. The only lion present made sure to voice her disapproval, fixing Daphne with her trademark scowl.

"You shouldn't say that, Greengrass. Neville's a nice person."

"Oh, come off it, Granger. It was just a joke."

Hermione huffed.

* * *

Lord Voldemort raged.

His pathetically weak servant was already beginning to die on him, likely due to his many recent bouts of anger. Possession took a great deal of concentration, after all.

Yet, he could not help the loss of control. How could he, when all he experienced was failure on top of failure and a never-ending stream of bad news.

First, Quirrell failed to steal the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts. Then, suddenly, most of his followers were killed in one fell swoop. And now, his host was expiring. His chances of resurrection were getting slimmer by the second.

"Hurry, you fool!" he barked, making sure to painfully probe Quirrell's mind as he relayed the order.

Quirrell's pace increased, and they soon reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Only a substantial dose of unicorn blood would keep his host from crumbling into a pile of dust.

Luckily for him, it was almost ridiculously easy to find a unicorn if you knew what to look for. Voldemort, who was a master Legilimens, needed only reach out with his considerable mental awareness and locate the nearest source of sickening purity.

If he had a body of his own, the Dark Lord believed he would have retched.

"Left!" he wheezed, guiding Quirrell through the thick maze of a forest. They were nigh upon the creature, given the small hoofprints on the mossy ground.

Voldemort licked his non-existent lips in anticipation, barely feeling the tug of apparition before Quirrell latched onto their prey. As soon as the blood entered their system, he could feel his strength return.

It would not be long before he claimed the Stone.


	19. A Letter from the Dogfather

Hi! Been a while again, huh? Life has a strange way of completely robbing you of time whenever you need it. Basically, I've been very busy ever since the current semester of university started. I've recently managed to find some time to jot this down, so I hope you'll enjoy it! Don't expect very frequent updates however, it'll be in the range of once a month at most.

/CE

* * *

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Depending on what you may or may not have heard, the first thing I would ask of you is that you not burn this letter before reading it to the last word._

 _My name is Sirius Black, and I am a recently escaped convict of Azkaban, framed for a crime I did not commit. I am also your godfather._

 _This must all sound terribly confusing, but it is the truth. I never betrayed Lily and James. I would have died before I betrayed them._

 _There is so much I would like to say, but I fear words cannot express my guilt for abandoning you to a familyless childhood. If you want nothing to do with me, rest assured that I understand your sentiment completely._

 _Should you, however, decide to reply, I shall eagerly await your letter. The owl that is no doubt nibbling your fingers as you are reading this will be capable of reaching me._

 _With love,_

 _Sirius_

"What is it, Harry? You're looking strange."

He did not respond. Even the nudge on his arm barely took his mind off the fact that he now has a godfather. A real, magical, family member. If Harry had found out about this only a couple of years earlier, it would have been the happiest moment of his life.

Perhaps it still was. He read the letter again.

There was a trickle of doubt in his mind; the words appeared almost too fantastical to be true. Yet, something about it just seemed right. Sirius' letter was formal, but the handwriting betrayed a great deal of emotion. Some sentences were spelled out sharply, some softly – especially toward the end.

Regardless, Harry _wanted_ to believe Sirius, and that made all the difference.

"Harry, seriously, you're beginning to freak me out."

He looked up from the letter and turned to Blaise, who was still attempting to poke him back into the real world.

"Please eat that piece of toast, Potter. The jam is already dripping off the edge and it's disgusting."

Opposite him, Daphne did her best to look repulsed, but even she sported small signs of concern if one knew where to look. In any case, Harry did as she asked and finished the final piece of his breakfast, which had been hanging limp from his mouth for the last ten minutes.

"Sorry." he apologized, setting down the letter flat on the table.

"So, what do you guys make of this?"

* * *

Not for the first time, Amelia Bones was made plainly aware of why she detested wizarding court. All around her sat corrupt politicians, individuals who had bought their way into power, and more than a few sycophants.

She could count the decent people present on one hand.

Nevertheless, a smile tugged on her lips as she fingered the pocket of her plum-colored robe, tracing the contour of a tiny, glass vial. Amelia had a veritable bombshell of information to share and could not wait to see the faces of her fellow members upon doing so.

Her eyes caught the Chief Warlock's, who was sat high at the very center of the stands. She shook her head, once again amazed at the fact that Dumbledore always managed to juggle his responsibilities perfectly. The old wizard had more titles and positions than he did names, which said quite a lot.

He placed the tip of his wand against his throat, and immediately a sagely voice reverberated clearly across the hall.

"Preliminary hearing of the tenth of October, into offenses committed by Sirius Orion Black, residency currently unspecified."

Amelia tuned out the rest of the formalities; the normally stoic and composed woman feeling a tinge of nervosity. She was used to acting as the interrogator, not the interrogated.

Once the court reporter had finished his transcription, Dumbledore continued.

"This court recognizes Amelia Susan Bones as hearsay witness for the defense."

The hushed murmuring that ensued nearly had her grinning from ear to ear. As the dignified Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, however, Amelia settled her expression into one of stone-cold rigidity.

She rose from her seat, calmly striding down the narrow stairs leading into the center of the courtroom. With only the slightest hint of trepidation, the stern witch sat down in the chain-riddled chair usually reserved for criminals.

She had no reason to believe the chains would come to life, binding her arms in place, but it was nonetheless comforting when they did not.

A loud rapping of the gavel silenced the animated court, and Amelia now had the unbridled attention of each and every member of the Wizengamot. She knew that her next move would trigger yet another frenzy.

"I request the use of a pensieve."

* * *

"Yes!" Sirius whooped; his loud exclamation causing Kreacher to jump in surprise. He barely noticed his mother beginning to rant in the distance, no doubt also in reaction to the sudden noise.

The hand holding Amelia's letter trembled with excitement, and he did not think things could have played out better in a dream. His old friend had truly come through for him, and freedom did not seem so far-fetched anymore.

Sirius had taken a wild gamble, sending Amelia his memories of what had happened on that fateful day. He knew it would not be enough to warrant an immediate pardon, but at the very least a trial. The real question was whether or not the witch would be willing to give him a chance.

As it stood, his gamble had paid off, and the Ministry would arrange for a trial under veritaserum in the near future.

In the opposite side of the room, Kreacher made his annoyance known, grumbling as he walked away and into the hall.

"Traitor Master disturbing the beloved Mistress with his hollering… Oh, how Kreacher wishes things could go back to the way they were."

Sirius did not even acknowledge the elf, too lost in his own happy musings. If only Harry would grace him with some sort of reply, perhaps he could truly begin to turn his life around.

* * *

Come early next morning, the narrow streets of Diagon Alley could already be seen bustling with people and activity. In one particular little shop – perhaps the most well-known of them all – a groggy old wandmaker rubbed his eyes, before flipping a wooden sign hanging from the storefront door.

Garrick Ollivander sighed, walking behind the counter and beginning to fiddle with a few wand cases. The weeks and months following Hogwarts' start-of-term were always dull. He would rarely receive customers, with most being adults who had somehow lost their wands or managed to break them in some ridiculous manner.

Were he half a century younger, all this spare time might have been used to search for rare cores and samples of wood. Regrettably, he was not a young man anymore, and now found such work to be tedious and tiresome.

Luck seemed to be on his side, however, as the door swung open without warning, followed by the sound of a tinkling bell.

"Welcome! How may I be of-" he began, only for the words to get caught in his throat.

Ollivander remembered every wand he had ever sold; such was the passion with which he performed his craft. No two wands were alike, and after spending countless hours working on each one, he had them etched into his mind down to the smallest detail.

As such, the old wizard also considered himself decent with recalling faces. He knew exactly who the woman standing in front of him was, and he knew exactly which wand he had sold her almost three decades ago.

If there was ever any doubt in his mind, it was promptly removed when she lowered her hood.

"Itty-bitty Ollivander!" she exclaimed, a wide grin on her face. "What's with that look on your face? Don't tell me you're scared of little, old Bella!"

Garrick swallowed nervously, deciding that living through this encounter would be in his best interest.

The dark witch stepped fully inside the store, making her way toward him without the slightest care in the world. Before he could as much as raise a warning hand, Bellatrix had already snatched the closest wand and waved it viciously.

A streak of white light soared over his head, missing by mere inches, and crashed against one of his carefully organized shelves.

"Well, not that one, obviously." she remarked, observing the newly created mess, and tossed the wand casually over her shoulder.

Still wearing a malicious grin, the Dark Lord's most notorious follower proceeded to stomp her way around his shop, testing wand after wand and leaving naught but destruction in her wake.

* * *

Black stood outside the shop; hand resting on his chin. A cacophony of sounds came from inside the store, and he idly wondered what the madwoman was up to. Surely the process of finding a new wand could not be that complex and violent.

He shook his head, shifting his attention back to the busy alleyway. If Privet Drive were the most mundane, uniform and quiet street on the planet, Black was fairly certain that Diagon Alley counted as its exact opposite.

When a loud yelp reached his ears, followed by demented cackling, he decided the wait had been long enough. Black spun around, accidentally slamming the door open with enough force to nearly blow it off its hinges.

"What…" he hissed, "…is taking so long?"

He watched almost amusedly as both Bellatrix and the old man turned to him in shock. The frightful look in their eyes was positively appetizing.

The shopowner was suspended upside-down in the air, with his tie dangling over his face. Opposite him stood Bellatrix, looking torn between fear and glee. A moment later, the witch lowered her arm and sent the old man tumbling onto the floor.

She cleared her throat. "So, how much for the wand?"

"Seven galleons." croaked the man, backing up against the counter as far as he could.

Bellatrix began to reach into her pocket when a sheepish expression came over her, and she turned to Black.

He sighed, and materialized a bar of solid gold in the palm of his hand.

"Here, mortal. This should cover the cost of my associate's new wand, as well as the damage caused to your… establishment." said Black, looking around the cramped and messy shop before tossing the ingot to a very confused wandmaker.

"Come along, Bella." he then ordered, making his way back out onto the street.

"Yes, Lord." she replied, hurrying to catch up to him. Bellatrix was halfway through the mangled doorframe when she suddenly stopped and spun around, wand in hand.

"Oh, right. I nearly forgot. Obliviate!"

* * *

"Sir! Madam! May I have a moment of your time, please?"

Black looked up, finding the head of an aging, bearded wizard poking out the window to his shop. He was about to dismiss the man and continue heading down the alleyway, when Bellatrix made a delighted sound.

The witch had immediately made some changes to her appearance upon receiving her wand, to the point where she was nearly unrecognizable. She had said something about a color-changing charm, and transfiguring her features, but he did not particularly care.

Only results mattered, and the current result was a woman with straight, blonde hair, and a face that no longer looked gaunt and hollow.

"Mister Fortescue!"

Black watched as the man, Fortescue, blinked in confusion.

"Have we met?" he asked, before shaking his head jovially. "Ah- Well, it makes no difference! You see, I have developed a new flavor of ice cream, and you fellows happened along just in time!"

The man then held out two ornate cups filled with several spheres of a creamy, dark substance. There was also a thick, deep red sauce on top, along with colorful sprinkles of some sort. Finally, on the very edge of the cup, was a small spoon and a biscuit.

Not knowing what else to do, Black accepted the mortal's offering. Bellatrix quickly did the same thing, and proceeded to dig into the strange aliment with great enthusiasm.

Black took hold of his own spoon and poked at one of the spheres. It had an odd texture, not hard, yet not soft either. He applied a little more force and managed to cut through it, leaving him with a small amount left on the spoon.

"What is this?" he asked, much to the surprise of witch and wizard alike.

"What?" they chorused. "You've never had ice cream before?"

He shook his head; anger at their disrespect overshadowed by his newfound curiosity for the so-called ice cream. Bringing the spoon to his lips, Black decided to taste the human confection.

It was cold.

That was his first thought, before an explosion of tastes assaulted his tongue. His eyes widened, and he let out a soft gasp.

The ice cream was sweet and rich, with a nutty flavor. In contrast, the sauce was almost spicy – much more exotic in nature. Like a calm river flowing into a roaring waterfall, the different tastes gradually built up in intensity, eventually coming down and settling nicely in his mouth.

"Well, what do you think? Is it any good?" asked Fortescue, smiling knowingly at the pair.

Black nodded, as did Bellatrix.

"That's just wonderful, then! I'd tell you what's in it, except I can't! Trade secret, you know."

They kept nodding, too busy stuffing themselves with the treat to pay proper attention. As for Fortescue, even he was beginning to lose himself in thought.

"I wonder what I'll call this one… Dragon's Kiss? Maybe…"


End file.
